


A Gift from your Dominus

by Stormkpr



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: AU but sticking to the general theme of S1, Canon Gay Relationship, Eventual Sex, First Time, Love, M/M, a bit of angst but not too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormkpr/pseuds/Stormkpr
Summary: Nasir is given to Agron as a gift from Batiatus. Agron is attracted to the young man but he will not lay with someone who has been commanded to do so. He must summon all of his willpower and fight his attraction to Nasir. And Nasir must try to understand Agron.AU but generally true to the spirit of the first season had Agron/Nasir been at the ludus at the same time as Barca/Pietros. Not sure how many chapters this will end up at, but perhaps around 5. I have never posted a fic that I didn't finish.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir, Barca/Pietros
Comments: 129
Kudos: 225
Collections: Spartacus ▶ Agron / Nasir, Spartacus ▶ Barca / Pietros





	1. Chapter One

Agron enters the bathing area along with the other gladiators, many of whom are already being attended to, with house slaves washing and shaving them. He has had a good couple of days. He triumphed in the arena and won the love of the crowd. Batiatus, the bastard who now “owns” him is pleased and has already rewarded him with coin. And Agron’s brother has fought well too and survived to remain by his side. Agron tries to be grateful for this.

He walks over to Duro’s side and removes his subligaria, tuning out the talk of the other gladiators. Crixus and Barca are arguing over something at this moment, but Agron ignores them. Instead he reaches for a washcloth - but stops when Doctore speaks up. “You there, slave,” Doctore says, gesturing at a young man. “Attend to Agron!”

“Yes, Doctore,” the slave answers, and gets right to work.

“It appears you get special treatment now,” Duro smirks at his brother.

“Do as well as I did in the arena, and the same treatment will be yours, brother.” Agron knows his retort is boastful and perhaps even harsh, but he also knows that Duro will need to improve his skill if he is to survive here.

Duro has no reply to that, and Agron sets about enjoying the attentions of the slave. He hadn’t noticed this slave before; the slave is not a _baiulus_ , or porter, like Pietros who stands nearby tending to Barca. As the slave gets to work, Agron takes notes of many things. One, the young man is handsome. Dark, long, glossy hair. Shinning eyes. Is he Syrian perhaps? His form is pleasing too, though he lacks the height and the musculature of the gladiators. This man also has a certain skill or finesse with how he works. He washes Agron gently but firmly. He is efficient though he does not rush.

“Shall I shave you now?” the slave asks.

“Yes,” Agron replies. He finds he can’t turn his eyes away from the young man. He enjoys watching him walk to the leather satchel where the shaving supplies are kept, and he enjoys watching him return holding razor and soap. The way the young man moves is mesmerizing enough that Agron momentarily forgets his distaste at the peculiar Roman practice of removing all body hair.

“What’s your name?” Agron asks as the man kneels before him and begins his work.

“Nasir.”

Agron opens his mouth again, ready to ask Nasir another question. He had been so drawn to him that he’d forgotten that they are in a room full of gladiators and other slaves – a fact which Gnaeus takes full advantage of.

“They should call us _master_ when they talk!” Gnaeus bellows. He apparently listened to Agron and Nasir’s exchange.

“What are you speaking of?” Barca questions as he sits on the next bench.

Agron is taken out of his pleasant reverie watching Nasir work as he observes the two gladiators.

“Lowly house slaves,” Gnaeus continues, nearly spitting the words out. “Porters. We gladiators are above them! They should bow before us and call us master.”

“Cease your ramblings,” Barca replies. He rises and stands to his full height before Gnaeus. Agron looks over and sees Pietros standing quietly, several paces behind his lover, admiring him. “Or you will find that I defeat you as easily inside the bathhouse as I do inside the arena.”

Nasir silently continues his work as Agron observes the interaction between Gnaeus and Barca. He wishes the two men would quiet down so he can get lost again in watching Nasir. He doesn’t care what Nasir calls him. They are both slaves, so why would Nasir need to call him _master_? Gnaeus’ anger is misplaced. The horrible Romans are the ones who deserve contempt, not fellow slaves.

As Gnaeus and Barca continue to verbally spar, Agron tries to tune them out. Nasir applies himself to shaving with the same care and diligence he applied to the washing. When at last he is finished, he does as some of the porters and house slaves sometimes do and offers, “Massage, Agron?”

Agron nods. He knows that his aching neck and back need it, though he’s not sure how he will react with this man’s hands upon him. He wouldn’t be the first gladiator to become aroused inside the bathhouse though. And he can retire to his cell after this and attend to his needs.

Nasir’s hands are as good as Agron expected. Knots of tension are slowly and carefully removed. Nasir’s work is firm yet he seems to know when to back off and be more gentle. And sure enough, Agron’s body responds. He wants to reach for this young man and touch him. Put his hand all over him and enjoy his body.

No. Agron puts the thoughts out of his mind. There is no sense in desiring anyone, ever again. Every human being who Agron has ever cared for is dead, except for Duro. And Agron doesn’t have much room to worry about anyone else. Besides, most men do not desire other men. Nasir probably does not want him or any other man, Agron figures. And laying with someone who does not wish it is not enjoyable. No. Agron will not proposition Nasir. He will do as he has done since he was captured – attend to his own bodily needs using his right hand.

“Shall I work on your feet next?” Nasir asks, once he has finished with Agron’s back, shoulders, and neck. He has been very through and Agron only now realizes that he’s lost track of time. Only Duro, Gnaeus, and a handful of others remain inside the bathhouse now.

“No. I’m finished,” Agron replies. He looks at Nasir. Those eyes. Beautiful, dark pools to drown inside of. He wants to keep looking. “Gratitude, Nasir.”

“You can pleasure Gnaeus now!” Gnaeus bellows, standing up and leering at Nasir.

Agron need only look at the panic inside Nasir’s eyes to know that despite his own views on attachments, he is not going to let this pass. Someone has to defend Nasir. The lives of slaves might be brutal and short, but nobody deserves Gnaeus’s paws.

“Leave him alone,” Agron says. “Anyone with eyes can see that he does not want you.”

Duro stands at Agron’s side. “You heard my brother. Go back to your cell.”

Gnaeus looks ready to charge, but suddenly heavy footsteps are heard, and Doctore and Melitta enter the bathhouse. “It is time for us to take Nasir back to the villa,” Melitta says simply. “Come.”

With that, Agron is left to only watch Nasir depart. Inside his cell, he uses his hands on himself, tunes out the sounds of Barca and Pietros in the next cell, and thinks of Nasir as he brings himself to climax.

***

Time passes. Agron’s prowess and renown in the ludus grow. He focuses his efforts on two things: becoming an indomitable gladiator and helping his brother – in every way that he can – become the same. Worry over his brother occupies his thoughts day and night, and there is room for little else.

He does see Nasir several times though. Nasir is sent to the bathhouse as a reward for Agron each time he excels. Their time together goes much as it has in the past. Nasir is a superb attendant, and the two of them speak a little – but not much, given the lack of privacy. Agron enjoys looking at him, talking with him, and feeling his hands upon him. His massages are balm for aching muscles.

Each time Nasir finishes attending to Agron, Doctore ushers him back to the villa. Agron watches him leave each time and commands his heart to quiet itself.

***

And then there is another trip to the arena. Blood, terror, pain. Agron is victorious, he is a demon, defeating every opponent he faces and stirring up the crowd. The adrenaline surges.

But Duro falters badly. He is granted the mercy of life, but his wounds will take weeks to fully recover from. It is whispered that Duro might be sent to the mines if it weren’t for the sterling work of his brother.

It is too much for Agron to bear. He wakes screaming from a nightmare, terrible images taunting him. Being torn from his home, his mother and sister. His father falling to Roman sword on the battlefield. The journey across the ocean in chains. Gut-wrenching anxiety eating at his insides. The horror of the arena, of the brutal, shrill crowds and the monsters he must face. Monsters who are men not unlike the man he himself has become.

Agron wakes from the nightmare and wraps his arms around himself. He does not return to sleep that night. He shivers despite his blanket. What he wouldn’t give for a measure of comfort, for something to take the edge off of this pain. He understands why so many others fall to drink and gambling.

The next day, Batiatus approaches the men as they eat, Doctore by his side. He heaps praise on Spartacus, Crixus, Barca – and Agron. Coin is passed out, and all the men are promised wine that night as celebration.

“I have an extra reward for you, Agron,” Batiatus says with a smile.

Agron forces himself to stand at attention before Batiatus and choke down his outrage at the fact that this man is his “dominus”, that this man controls the rest of his life.

“You have brought glory to this house’s name, Agron! You deserve a reward beyond wine and coin.” With a wave of his arm, Batiatus continues, “Just as I rewarded Doctore with Melitta and Barca with Pietros, I shall give you a virgin as well. Your brother tells me you like boys, so I will give Nasir to you! A handsome young man, indeed.”

Some of the other gladiators cheer, some make bawdy comments. Duro slaps him on the back. Agron feels his heart begin to pound. He doesn’t want his own Pietros even though he knows that deep down he badly, badly wants Nasir. As the cheers and raunchy remarks continue, Agron feels that he is losing this battle. He desires Nasir. He wants the man in his arms, in his bed. His ears ring and he becomes almost lightheaded for a bit at the thought.

“I was expecting some gratitude, Agron. Not every gladiator is rewarded with a virgin,” Batiatus continues, his face now stern.

“Gratitude, dominus,” Agron manages.

Batiatus exchanges a nod with Doctore. “We will bring the boy to you tonight,” he says to Agron. With that, the dominus turns and leaves.

Barca does as Duro did a minute ago and slaps Agron on the back. “May you enjoy your gift as much as I enjoy mine, brother,” he grins. He then exchanges a look with Pietros. As much as Agron doesn’t want to see it, he can’t miss the mutual love and adoration in that glance. It’s been years since Barca and Pietros were put together, Agron has been told, and both men clearly are happy. _No_ , Agron reminds himself. _I refuse to lie with anyone who has been ordered to do so, someone who does not desire me. And love leads only to pain._

“Virgins are boring!” Gnaeus declares loudly, interrupting Agron’s thoughts. “Give me a boy who knows how to suck my cock and take it up the ass. Gnaeus does not want terrified virgin!”

“Someone appears jealous that he will never, ever receive such a reward,” Duro remarks sharply.

“Nor will you, weakling!”

Gnaeus strides up to Duro, who is still heavily injured, and Agron finds himself stepping in between them, ready to defend his brother if need be. He forces Gnaeus to back down.

***

Nasir takes a breath as he continues to select the best fruit to be placed inside the bowl. His normally sure and steady hands are shaking just a bit and his mouth is dry. He has rarely been granted the honor of tasting wine, and he wishes he had some now.

He will be leaving the villa, following in Pietros’ footsteps. Not only will he be gifted to a gladiator but he will also work alongside Pietros as porter. Nasir has many questions for Melitta and she generously stands beside him to answer them.

“What if I don’t please him?” he asks her.

“You are a very comely young man. You will please him,” she answers straightforwardly.

“But I have never….” Nasir lets his voice trail off and keeps his gaze upon the fruit.

“That is a good thing. All men desire virgins.”

“What if I cannot determine what I am supposed to do and he doesn’t want me? Will I be returned to the villa? Or sent to the mines?”

“We must all accept our fates,” Melitta sighs. “Not everyone is as lucky as Pietros and I have been.” She places a hand on Nasir’s back. “Use the same attentiveness and finesse as you do in the bathhouse and fear not.”

Nasir nods. “Did- did he request me specifically? Would he have wanted any young man?”

“His brother suggested it to dominus. Duro knows Agron’s tastes well.” Melitta glances over her shoulder and adds, “I am needed by domina. After dinner, bathe and pack your few possessions. I will bring you a flask of oil, and Doctore will escort you down to the gladiators’ cells.”

Nasir can scarcely concentrate the rest of the day.

Agron.

The strong German gladiator. Those broad shoulders and powerful arms. His eyes which contain such a muted but powerful fire.

Agron’s gorgeous appearance makes Nasir want to drool like an idiot. Being given to Agron is like a dream come true.

 _Or is it?_ Nasir wonders to himself. _He has never given any hint that he wants you, you fool. He speaks gratitude for your services in the bathhouse. Beyond that, he talks to you but little. If he wanted you, would he not have already conveyed that message? Further, you have never before touched a man in a sexual way. Just as Melitta and Pietros before you, your virginity has been preserved for a worthy warrior. And yet you know from all the gossip among the house slaves that the pleasures of the bedroom are not easy or simple for the uninitiated. Will he not laugh when you are unable to take his cock down your throat or into your ass? Or will he not do worse? He might beat you. Torment you. Have you sent to the mines to be replaced with a boy who has some level of skill._

_Your mother always warned you to be careful what you wish for._

Nasir continues about his daily chores. He alternates between terror and excitement, hope and fear.

“Calm yourself,” Naevia says softly, as Nasir nearly trips walking down the corridor. She places a hand on his back. “He seems like a good man. You must calm yourself,” she repeats.

Nasir nods. He reminds himself that he might be lucky. On the rare occasions when he exchanges words with Pietros, the other man will rave about how much he enjoys Barca’s kisses and Barca’s cock. He will speak at length of the pleasures of their bed and of Barca’s arms. He shows Nasir the gifts Barca has given him - the earring, the necklace. But Nasir has never asked Pietros what it was like at the beginning or how he handled it the first few times, and now he regrets not having done so.

The last few times Nasir looked into Agron’s eyes, the gladiator appeared almost tormented. How many kisses and loving embraces can a tormented man really provide? Agron was not born into slavery, and Nasir feels that the gladiator will never be content.

***

After dinner, Nassir does as Melitta instructed him. He bathes quickly and places his belongings inside his rolled-up mat. Melitta hands him a flask of oil. The gate is unlocked, and Melitta pats Nasir’s back as he steps through.

He finds Duro standing on the other side, holding a jug of wine and two cups. “A gift for my brother and you,” Duro says, raising the cups with one hand, a smile upon his face. Duro still wears multiple bandages from his injuries. “I will bring you to his cell.”

Nasir silently follows Duro. He has a hundred questions he wishes to ask, but feels that asking his soon-to-be-lover’s brother is not the best approach.

“His mood has been rotten of late,” Duro pipes up as they walk, with a glance over his shoulder. “I hope you and the wine bring him some cheer.”

“I hope the same then.” Nasir’s heart pounds. Duro’s words are not encouraging.

They reach the cell. There is, of course, no door. Duro walks in first, Nasir following him.

“Wine and a young man for my brother,” Duro announces with a smile. “Would that someday I am blessed with wine and women!”

Nasir tries to judge Agron’s countenance as Duro speaks but his face is hard to read in the dim light. The cell is much like any other gladiator’s cell. A small table with candles burning atop it. A bed, a window, a few items in the corner which Nasir can’t discern. Duro sets the wine and cups next to the candles.

Agron rises to his feet. “I, too, hope you will train hard and reap rewards, brother,” he says, and then nods, signaling Duro to leave.

Nasir then feels Agron’s gaze hot upon him, and Nasir’s courage drains immediately and his mouth goes dry. He is alone inside this room with Agron. He has no idea what Agron wants or what he feels. He does not know if he will be a kind lover as he assumes Barca is, or a brute like Gnaeus.

But even in the dim light, Nasir can see the pain inside Agron’s eyes. Nasir reminds himself of the reasons for Agron’s torment. Agron was not born a slave; he has tasted freedom, freedom which is now absent. And Agron has a brother to care for, a brother who - according to those in the ludus with loose tongues - is not a strong gladiator. Agron’s shoulders might look to be among the broadest Nasir has seen, but those shoulders carry a heavy burden.

“Set your things down,” Agron says. Although his words are direct they are not unkind either.

Nasir does as told. He spreads his mat out on the floor, and places the other bundle beside it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Agron fill both cups with wine. Agron then pats the side of the bed and gestures for Nasir to sit with him. He hands him the cup of wine.

“Gratitude,” Nasir says as he accepts the wine. He smiles. “I have partaken in wine before, but only a sip here and there. Never before have I had an entire cup of my own.” He finds it good to get the words out. They seem to help with his own nervousness.

“I used to partake whenever I wanted,” Agron says. He holds his cup but does not drink from it, and his eyes look faraway. He opens his mouth again as if to say more, but seems to think better of it, instead putting cup against lips and drinking at last.

Nasir takes another sip and observes Agron again. Although Nasir himself has no idea what to do, he realizes that perhaps neither does Agron. Not from the standpoint of the sexual act – Agron surely must have lain with men before – but from the standpoint of their specific situation. Did Agron’s people own slaves? Did his family possess enough coin for slaves of their own? Or is this type of situation completely foreign to Agron? As Nasir continues to watch Agron drink, he again wonders if Agron feels as unsure as he himself does.

“Did you have a favorite type of wine?” Nasir asks tentatively. “When you lived east of the Rhine?”

Agron gulps more wine and shakes his head. Again his eyes look haunted and pained, and Nasir silently wishes that the gods had not been so cruel as to strip this proud man of his freedom.

“Better not to think of those days,” Agron says, his voice throaty. He turns to look at Nasir. “I do not desire touch tonight – only sleep.” He points his chin in the direction of Nasir’s mat on the floor. “Goodnight, Nasir.”

Nasir takes the hint, stands up, takes one last swig of wine, and returns the greeting. He sees Agron blow out every candle except for one, and settle down onto the bed, pulling his blanket around him.

Nasir lies on his back, atop the mat. It’s not any more or less comfortable than any mat or surface he’s slept on before in his life, so he does not think to envy Agron for his bed. Nasir replays his interactions just now with Agron. The gladiator truly did look as if he required rest – a lot of it. He did not, Nasir thinks, look as if he wanted to harm Nasir though Nasir reminds himself that appearances can be deceiving.

The brother Duro seems kind, and Nasir believes that to be a good sign. Nasir remembers his own brother. He hasn’t seen him since they were children. Nasir wishes to share with Agron the fact that he, too, has a brother somewhere but decides against ever bringing the subject up. It might serve only to make Agron worry more over Duro.

As Nasir begins to drift off to sleep, he feels he has comported himself well this evening. He is still as attracted to Agron as he has always been. He still craves his touch and his kisses, wondering what it would be like to have this man’s hands all over him. Yet he managed to keep his mind steady and his hands from shaking as they sat and drank. That is the best he can ask for now.

He does resolve to speak with Pietros when he can. Nasir knows that Agron is certainly not Barca, but Pietros may yet have advice to share since their positions now are similar.

***

Sleep used to be restful long, long ago. Dreams were once nothing more than pleasant images playing out behind one’s eyelids. But those days are gone for Agron. Sleep is now a kaleidoscope of horrors, and the nightmares are as predictable and relentless as always. Visions of Duro dying at the edge of a sword or inside a filthy mine. The leering crowds of the arena, the noise, the pain, the blood, the death, the visage of the man Batiatus who now owns him. The trip across the ocean, hands in chains, body covered in blood and vomit. Being branded like a goat. The thought that he will never see his homeland again. The thought that once his brother dies, he will never hear his language spoken again.

A yet on top of all the routine nightmare images that Agron is almost accustomed to, a new image now invades Agron’s mind tonight, one which he has not experienced before. His brain replays the events of the day shortly after he was brought to the ludus. Being forced to strip naked before domina and her friend. The knowledge that his body can now be taken and abused not just for sport in the arena but also for sexual sport. And right here and now he’s been “given” his own boy to use and abuse however he sees fit. A human being to be used as a plaything, just as Agron himself is used in the arena – and can someday be used in the bedroom if his dominus ever requires it. He feels fear, panic, and utter disgust at the Romans and their ways.

Agron does not even realize he had been screaming until he feels arms around him. The last vestiges of the nightmare begin to fade, and Agron does not resist Nasir’s arms. He lets the smaller man reach for him and hold him.

“I will go fetch water - and damp cloth for your forehead,” Nasir whispers.

“No. Stay here,” Agron says.

This, somehow, is all Agron needs right now. He grasps onto Nasir, shifting his weight so the two men lie spooned together. Nasir feels good to hold. Agron places his face near the back of Nasir’s neck. He smells clean. Agron loves the scent. He keeps his arms around the smaller man, enjoying the feel of Nasir’s entire backside against himself.

“I woke you,” Agron says.

“It seems that dreams are painful,” Nasir says quietly.

“Yes. They were. They are.” Agron takes a breath. “Do you yourself have nightmares?”

“Upon occasion. Not too often. I am used to this life as I was born into it. And I don’t have to fight inside unforgiving arena.”

Agron grunts in reply.

Nasir turns his head. “Agron,” he begins. “In the bathhouse I used to massage your tired muscles. Let me do it again here. Perhaps it will provide comfort.”

Agron has not the willpower to put up any sort of fight. A massage will not remove the nightmares but it might allow his body to relax. And Nasir is most skilled in his area. He nods, and begins, “How should we….?”

“It might be easiest if you lay down,” Nasir answers. “Something we can’t do in the bathhouse,” he adds, and Agron thinks that Nasir might be smiling. He is almost tempted to return the smile, but instead does as Nasir gestures, turning onto his side and facing the wall.

Agron sees once again that Nasir has been taught well. His hands must be led by the gods as they divine the location of each aching muscle and exactly what is needed to ease it to relaxation. The torment of Agron’s nightmares begins to fade a bit.

“Would you teach me a few words of your language?” Nasir asks. “It seems that you and Duro speak our language with each other instead of your own.”

Agron is glad for this distraction. “Yes. I would enjoy teaching you.”

As Nasir’s hands continue to work, Agron begins the lesson. He teaches Nasir several words (mother, father, brother, sister, sword, family, battle) and a few phrases. Nasir repeats them, though clumsily. Agron notes that Nasir’s mind is sharp – although he struggles with pronunciation, he seems to remember everything and is able to repeat the words back, even after they have gone on and learned something new.

“What about your language?” Agron asks after quite some time. “You are Syrian, yes?”

“I am. But my mother was born in this house and she never taught me the old language. Better to master the Roman tongue instead,” Nasir answers.

Nasir then gradually changes his approach from firm massage to more gentle strokes of Agron’s back. Agron realizes that whether it is because of their lesson or because of the work of Nasir’s hands, his mind has largely cleared. The nightmarish feelings of fear and panic have subsided.

“Thank you. Your hands have eased much pain,” Agron says. He shifts position to lay on his back. He looks at Nassir who sits on the side of the bed. “I am much improved.”

“I am here to serve.”

Agron’s ears do not know how to absorb Nassir’s words. His baser, animalistic instincts want to carry Nasir’s words to their natural conclusion, to take the young man, strip away his loincloth, touch him, bring them both to the heights of pleasure. Yet Agron’s brain tells him that this is wrong. Nasir is a slave, as he is. He has just spent time crouched over him in what must have been an uncomfortable contortion just so he could bring relaxation to Agron. Does Nasir not deserve his own agency, his own comforts rather than being made into some sort of pet?

“I enjoyed the work of your hands,” Agron says firmly, knowing he must commit to the right decision. No matter how base the Romans are, he will not stoop to their level. He will reject their brutish, immoral ways. “But I will not lie with one who has been commanded to do so,” he says, with a definitive shake of the head.

“ **I** do not object to it. I do not object to what I have been commanded to provide you.” Nasir says. His voice is strong, equal to the firmness of Agron’s own words a second ago.

Agron lets those words remain, and he is silent.

Nasir continues after some more silence, “That is, if **you** do not object to my lack of experience.”

“That would not be at issue for me,” Agron says, and he lets out a small laugh as he speaks the words. He then reaches for one of Nasir’s hands and holds it though he cannot say quite why he is doing this. “I would rest now.” He looks Nasir in the eyes as he says the words.

“I will return to my mat then,” Nasir says, getting to his feet. He then stops and looks at Agron. “But please heed my words. I was not forced here, and I consider myself fortunate to be given to you.”

“I will consider your words.” Agron again compels his mind to task and silently demands that the desires of his body subside. He once again reminds himself that he will not become like the beasts who hold him captive, who use and abuse the bodies and minds of their slaves. He must stay above it or else fall into the abyss.

With that, Agron stretches back out atop the bed and eventually falls into a peaceful, deep sleep. It is the first restful sleep he has had since he entered the ludus.

* * *

Chapter Two coming soon. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Author’s Note: I haven’t mentioned T/Ws much, so I should say here that if you were able to watch the show, then this fic won’t be too far off from what you saw on the show (which admittedly contained many potential triggers). Note that the first scene below describes events that would be termed dub-con._

* * *

“I woke in the middle of night and thought I might overhear sounds of pleasure coming from your cell. Instead I overhear a language lesson!”

Pietros laughs as he speaks the words to Nasir the next morning.

Nasir joins him in smiling. The two are at work tending to the weapons and shields, cleaning and sharpening them as needed. Pietros is to train Nasir to do as he does, to serve as porter.

“The lesson was not unenjoyable,” Nasir says. He then shares a few of the Germanic words he learned, hoping he is recalling them correctly.

“Still, not what one would expect from the situation,” Pietros comments with a tilt of his head. “Does he not desire you?” He asks the question softly, without malice. Nasir has always known Pietros to have a kind heart, and he has no reason to suspect that the question was asked with any ill-intent.

Nasir is silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He keeps his gaze focused on the shield he is scrubbing. He decides to sidestep the question. “I’ve always heard you speak of enjoying Barca’s attentions,” he says, his voice quiet. “Did he ever…object to the situation? To the notion of lying with someone who did not choose to be there?”

Pietros laughs. “Certainly not. Why would he? The moment I first entered his cell, he ordered me undressed and to kneel before him.”

“Was it not…terrifying? Had you ever done this sort of thing before?”

“It was neither terrifying, nor had I ever touched a man before. Barca schooled me in what to do. He was patient. He told me he would not hurt me, and he was truthful. He never has hurt me,” Pietros describes the events simply and straightforwardly.

Nasir would hear more. He again reminds himself that Barca is not Agron, and yet he craves knowledge of Pietros’ experience. “Can you describe more? What happened after he bid you kneel in front of him?”

“It was simple. He instructed me to use my lips and tongue on the very tip of his cock, and to use my hand on the shaft. He guided me and I did as he instructed. It was not too difficult. When he was finished, he looked down and saw that I was aroused, and he next ordered me to pleasure myself. He watched as I did so. I bid him gratitude when I had finished, and he told me that the next day he would fuck me.” Pietros shrugs, “That was all for our first night. I slept upon mat on the floor, and he slept atop his bed.”

“And then…after that?” Nasir asks the question and steals a quick glance at Pietros. He quickly determines that Pietros is enjoying this conversation; perhaps fond memories are stirring happiness. Nasir’s assumption is proven by Pietros’ lack of hesitation to reply.

“It just continued on from there, easily and simply. The next night Barca bid me to take to my hands and knees, upon the bed. He again promised he would not hurt me, and he kissed the back of my neck. I might have trembled a bit, though part of it was anticipation at the pleasure. He used the oil to open me up and he slowly entered me. He took his time, which was fortunate as we needed it. It was not the sort of thing that could happen quickly, especially given his size. I took some enjoyment from the act, though it felt odd and perhaps uncomfortable as well. When he was finished, he stroked me with his own hands and I awoke half the ludus with my cries. No longer did it feel odd or uncomfortable!” Pietros takes a breath, and he still smiles. “Time passed. We began to share bed, I no longer slept upon the mat on the floor. We began to share kisses. I asked him to fill me with cock as often as he pleases - and so he does. I look forward to his fucking. I love gentle kisses yet more.”

Pietros takes another breath and adds, “Now let us stop before I become aroused! Our men have long day of training ahead of them – and we have much to prepare.”

Pietros’ words prove true. The two young men spend much of the day fetching this or that for Doctore, but they are able to observe the gladiators train as well.

As Nasir snatches pieces of time to watch Agron, he finds that he is no longer worried or fearful about what might happen between them. Instead, he is simply being driven mad with lust. Pure lust. Perhaps it was Pietros’ words reminding him that he has nothing to be afraid of and much to look forward to. But mostly it is Agron himself. He is strong, powerful, and fearless as he trains. The skill with which he fights, the confidence. And the size of Agron! His height, his broad chest. Nasir grows excited at the prospect of someday having that much man inside of him, should Agron ever will it.

And as Nasir continues to grab time to watch, he also notes Agron’s caring side. He is rough on his brother but there’s genuine affection too, and Nasir knows what it’s like to having a caring brother. Agron is doing everything he can to equip Duro with what he needs to stay alive even if it might appear harsh to the untrained eye.

Agron looks at him sometimes, too. When Agron has a moment to breathe or rest, his eyes seem to search for Nasir’s. They meet, and Nasir feels a jolt. He gives a soft smile in return.

The day passes quickly. At mealtime, Doctore sets Nasir to work on maintenance of the weapons and resetting the training area, so he is not able to join the gladiators as they sup. He does observe Pietros sitting with Barca, petting one of their birds. Nasir steels another glance a bit later and sees Barca’s hand on Pietros’ thigh.

As the gladiators’ day of training and work winds down, Pietros informs Nasir that they are now to ensure the bathhouse is prepared appropriately. Nasir sets about the tasks, his heart starting to stir with anticipation. This won’t be the first time he has tended to Agron in the bathhouse. But it will be the first time since he was given to Agron. He wonders if it will be even more difficult now, knowing that the two of them could be sharing sensual pleasures later on if not for the fact that Agron objects to their circumstances.

Nasir and Pietros quickly wash themselves using a few buckets, they perform one final check of the bathhouse, and the gladiators soon file in. Nasir tries to keep his facial expression from betraying his excitement as Agron enters the room and removes his subligaria. Nasir is grateful for being able to keep his own loincloth on. The sight of Agron stripped of all clothing is simply mesmerizing. Nasir’s face grows warm.

Attempting to put all sensual thoughts aside, Nasir sets about his duties. He applies washcloth to Agron. Neither man speaks as Nasir washes Agron, and right now Nasir dare not look at Agron’s eyes. He can only wish that his tongue was doing the work of the washcloth.

Just as Nasir reaches for the razor to commence shaving Agron, Gnaeus decides to speak up.

“How did you enjoy your virgin last night, Agron? You didn’t tell us what his holes were like.”

Agron’s response to Gnaeus is swift and reflexive. He bolts out of his seat. “Speak like that again, Gnaeus, and you will again find your mouth filled with blood at my hands.”

Nasir watches silently, and is glad that right after Agron, Barca decides to speak as well. “Keep your mouth closed, Gnaeus. Your jealousy clouds judgment.”

Fortunately their replies seem to be enough to silence Gnaeus. He does give one last leering look in Nasir’s direction before stomping off to the other end of the bathhouse.

When Agron again settles back onto the bench, he locks eyes with Nasir. Nasir feels his cheeks grow hot once more as Agron holds the look for a few seconds. The gladiator’s eyes are searching, caring - and Nasir finds the gaze almost too intense.

***

After the bathhouse, Agron is back inside his cell atop the bed, with Duro sitting on one side and Nasir on the other.

“You have wine remaining from yesterday,” Duro observes grinning. “Enough for each of us to enjoy.”

“Then let us partake,” Agron says, gesturing for Duro, who is closest to the small table, to hand him the jug. When Duro passes it to him, Agron smiles and hands it to Nasir. “You first.”

Nasir hesitates for a second before breaking out into a grin. “Quite an honor. Gratitude, Agron.”

Agron feels his brother lightly elbow him in the side as he passes the jug to Nasir. He ignores the gesture, and passes the jug to Duro when Nasir is finished. Agron then finishes up the last few sips.

Today was a good day for him. He acquitted himself well once again, even earning a word of praise from Doctore. Further, Agron is also pleased at how well Duro performed today. Duro still has an ocean to cross, but he is progressing steadily.

Having Nasir at his side is also contributing to Agron’s pleasant mood. “Do you remember the German word for wine, Nasir?”

“I do,” Nasir smiles. He supplies the word, which sounds much like the word for wine used in their mutual language. And with a twinkle in his eyes, Nasir speaks a few more words and phrases in German, proving that he recalls their lesson from last night. Agron is uncertain whether he is more taken with Nasir’s sharp mind or with the twinkle in his eyes. Nasir’s eyes alone light up the entire dim cell.

Conversation progresses naturally from there. Agron gives Duro some suggestions on improving his fighting prowess, and Duro seems to listen instead of groan this time. Agron goes on to ask Nasir about his first day as porter, and Nasir seems to happily recount his day. Agron listens to his words, knowing not to take the work of the porters for granted as most of the gladiators appear to.

“Well then,” Duro begins, standing up and slapping Agron’s thigh. “We are absent any more wine and I should seek sleep. And,” he says, smile spreading across his face, “I should leave you two alone.”

With that, Duro turns and leaves. Agron sets the empty wine jug back upon the table. As he turns to look at Nasir, something catches his eye.

“I see something I have never observed before,” Agron begins. “A knot in your hair.”

Nasir’s mouth drops open and he looks flustered. “A-a knot?” he asks, one hand hurrying up towards his hair.

“Here,” Agron gestures, bidding Nasir to reposition himself so he sits in front of Agron. “I shall help.” Agron cannot explain his urge to fix the situation, only that Nasir’s hair is normally so glossy and shiny and he would like to see it returned so.

“Apologies,” Nasir stammers. “Pietros and I bathed quickly before you and the others entered the bathhouse. But it is far dustier here than inside walls of the villa. I have not been able to attend to….”

“No need for apologies,” Agron cuts in. “Allow me to ease the knot out.” He chuckles as his fingers begin their work, “Duro would be amused if I told you this, but I sometimes found myself tending to his hair when we were children. Our mother’s hands were forever busy, and both Duro and I were forever playing at fighting, or rolling in dirt, or hiding in bushes – or any number of similar, boyish pursuits.” As he speaks, he gently takes the knot out of Nasir’s hair. His fingers then find themselves combing Nasir’s locks. “Afterwards I always looked forward to cleaning myself up, but Duro…well, he was perpetually filthy as a pig. With my mother’s hands always busy, I would sometimes tend to Duro’s hair and I enjoyed doing so. I sometimes was compelled to threaten to throw him into the river if he would not bathe himself!”

“He is lucky to have a brother who cares for him. As I am lucky to have been given to you, and not one of the others.”

Agron makes an agreeable noise in reply. Lost in both his memories and the movements of his hands, he feels pleasantly lulled. Soon he finds himself taking his fingertips and pressing them lightly but firmly to Nasir’s scalp. He gently rotates them around.

“My mother used to do this for me, when she could,” Agron murmurs. “Caress my head like this. I, in turn, did it to Duro and he’d never stop me.”

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Nadia.”

Agron’s fingers continue their movements. Although Nasir might have apologized for being dustier than usual, the young man is still clean by any standard. Agron wishes to lean forward and bury his face in Nasir’s hair, to smell it, to enjoy it before slowly working his way down and kissing the back of Nasir’s neck.

And then suddenly Agron realizes what he is doing. He is touching and caressing this man who was “given” to him. As if he could douse his loins with a bucket of ice-cold river water, Agron jolts. This is wrong. He needs to immediately cease the actions that he allowed himself to be lulled into.

He abruptly bids Nasir a good night and gestures for Nasir to take to his mat.

***

“Once again my sleep was **not** disturbed with passionate sounds from the next cell,” Pietros says the following morning, as he and Nasir undertake their usual duties to prepare the training grounds.

“No,” Nasir says. He keeps his voice steady and even. He has spent every waking minute replaying Agron’s touch, the way he gently combed his hair, his fingertips against scalp. It was a kind of heaven - but when Agron ceased his touches it felt like falling into the abyss. What he wouldn’t give to have Agron’s fingertips upon him again!

Pietros gently touches Nasir’s arm and seems to search his face. “Do Agron’s gods forbid it? I hear that some gods forbid their followers from enjoying the pleasures of the bed when it cannot lead to procreation.”

“I do not think so,” Nasir replies. He keeps his eyes upon the swords he is tending to.

“I do not know much of his people. Perhaps some of them believe in depriving oneself - believing it to bring a man closer to the gods. In the same way that some deprive themselves of drink or gambling.”

Nasir nods. He is uncertain what to think but he believes Agron when he says that he doesn’t wish to lie with someone who has been commanded to do so. Having been born a slave in the house of Batiatus, Nasir has had to hone his skills at reading and interpreting people, and he thinks that Agron is simply being truthful when he explains why he hasn’t lain with Nasir. He has seen the way Agron looks at him and he has felt his touch. He intuits that his desire for Agron is reciprocated – intensely.

As Nasir opens his mouth to share this with Pietros, he sees Barca approach them, so he quiets down. Having grown up in his ludus, Nasir is not afraid of gladiators but he certainly is deferential towards them. Barca places a hand on Pietros’ hip and says, “Dominus commands that Agron and I accompany him to town today. I will not see you until much later.”

Pietros replies with a nod and a kiss against Barca’s cheek. He adds, “I will tend the birds, of course.” Barca pats Pietros’ backside and turns to leave.

“I shall miss seeing Agron today,” Nasir says.

“Yes,” Pietros says, his eyes in the direction of Barca’s retreating form. “Dominus never leaves the villa without two gladiators, and it is a sign of respect that he has requested your man. So be glad for that. Barca enjoys the privilege of a day away from this place and I am certain your man will too.”

Nasir smiles. Your man. He likes the words. He likes it even more when Agron comes by soon afterwards simply to bid him farewell. Nasir cannot resist reaching for Agron’s hand and squeezing it, and the smile he is rewarded with makes his heart stir again.

Once Agron is out of earshot, Pietros smiles and shakes his head. “Agron seems to like gazing upon you and being near you. Barca does not always take the time to bid me farewell, and I was much impressed to see Agron do so with you just now.” He pauses and smiles broadly, “Perhaps there is something wrong with his cock.” He nudges Nasir with an elbow.

Nasir throws him a sour look. As he returns to his work, Pietros’ last remark echoes around his mind. It was clearly meant in jest and Nasir doubts that it is true, but he begins to fear that Gnaeus and some of the other men might start to make similar ribald remarks. Perhaps he and Agron should agree to lie to the others and say that they are sharing bed, if only to prevent Agron’s manhood from being challenged by the likes of Gnaeus. Nasir has seen Agron topple Gnaeus in a fight many times, but still it may be best to avoid conflict in this matter.

***

As Agron departs with Dominus and Barca, he knows that he cannot even fantasize of escape. “Move one muscle in the wrong direction and I will see your brother’s cock parted from his body and fed to Nasir,” Dominus promises before they set out. Agron knows that he is as trapped as always; he will not do anything to risk Duro’s life. And Dominus was wise to add Nasir’s name to his threat.

Dominus ignores the two gladiators once their party arrives in town. Instructions were clear: ensure Dominus’ safety and stay silent. Agron and Barca accompany Dominus as he moves throughout the marketplace, speaks with one man and then another, and then sits down to drink with a third. Having been born a free man, Agron will never get used to standing silently at attention as if he is absent all thought, as if he is nothing but mere tool while Dominus conducts important business. When Dominus has concluded his business, he leads the others back through the marketplace.

“One moment, Dominus,” Barca speaks for the first time since they set out this morning.

“What is it? Oh, don’t tell me,” he makes a face. “Be my guest. But be quick about it,” Dominus responds, with a sweep of his arm.

Barca leads the trio through the throng of vendors who loudly hawk their wares. Despite the heat and dust of the day, Capua’s marketplace is bustling and thriving. Agron observes Barca examine various goods absent of delay, though also absent of haste.

“He always brings something back for Pietros,” Dominus mutters, crossing his arms. “I’ve learned to indulge this.”

Agron nods. He, too, departed the ludus with coin tucked away. As much as he wishes to save enough to purchase freedom for himself and his brother, he knows that even if he won ten matches in the arena, he would still be left with a mere fraction of the needed cost to purchase freedom for just one of them.

And now there is Nasir to think about too. Because Agron knows he already has feelings for the young man. Agron shakes his head. _You’ve always been a sentimental fool. And here you are, ready to hand your heart over to a slave who was ‘given’ to you._

Barca returns with what Agron believes is called an arm cuff, a decoration to be worn on the upper arm. Agron recognizes the gleam in Barca’s eyes – he is either pleased with his purchase or the thought of Pietros’ reaction to it or both. Agron has noticed the necklace and other trinkets worn by Pietros. They are markers that Barca places on the young man to claim him as his own. Although Agron believes that Barca truly cares about Pietros, he also believes that is Barca not shy about flaunting his ownership. Ownership might not be the right word, Agron surmises, since Barca’s attentions also signal to the others that Pietros is not to be harmed in any way. So there is an aspect of caring and protection there too.

And yet the concept of ownership is one that Agron will never accept.

He does desire now to make kind gesture though.

“If I might have a minute, Dominus…” Agron begins.

“Quickly! The sun grows hot.”

Agron approaches a woman selling fruit and other treats from a cart. He thumbs the coins in his hand, and feels Barca standing over his shoulder.

“Not those,” Barca says, pointing. “Her almonds last week were bitter. Purchase dried figs instead.”

Barca has been known to relish playing tricks on those who are not yet part of the brotherhood, but Agron is now a full-fledged gladiator and he trusts that Barca respects that. Agron is not without skepticism too though.

“I would sample one first,” Agron says, looking at the vendor.

The woman nods and pops a tiny fig into Agron’s mouth. It’s sweet and chewy, and Agron even enjoys the feel of the tiny seeds against his tongue. Agron haggles a bit until they agree upon a price, and he walks away with a bag of six figs.

“Figs for Nasir and an arm cuff for Pietros,” Dominus says, eyebrows raised. “Glad to see that both my gladiators enjoy the gifts provided by their benevolent Dominus, and in turn wish to bestow gifts upon them!” he proclaims with a smile.

 _What a fop,_ Agron thinks as he watches him. And Agron’s blood boils every time Nasir is referred to as his “gift” but he wisely keeps his calm and joins Barca in once again expressing gratitude to Dominus.

Later, as the two gladiators enter the area of the ludus that contains their cells, Barca questions Agron. “You confuse me, Agron,” he says quietly. “Is not one purpose of bestowing gift to thank your boy for taking your cock? Why gift Nasir if that has not happened yet?”

Once again today, Agron needs to bite his tongue for he has no wish to fight Barca anywhere other than upon the training grounds. “A gift can also denote caring and kindness absent any expectation of return service,” he says simply. And he cannot help but to feel that he has won, given the look on Barca’s face.

***

Nasir has had figs before, but only rarely. Once a year, Domina would treat the house slaves to a half-day of rest and small gifts, provided each had performed well that year. Nasir’s gifts were usually nutcakes, figs, or dates though once he was given a necklace – a necklace that was later stolen, the culprit never discovered.

When Agron had departed with the others, Pietros had mentioned how Barca rarely returned without bearing gift. The notion had raised Nasir’s hopes a bit, and he had fought all day to lower them back down. _Remember that Agron did not request you, nor has he sought any sexual favors from you. So do not expect him to bestow gift, Nasir tells himself._

Agron and Barca join the others in the bathhouse that evening, and Pietros shows off his arm cuff to all others. Nasir glances at Pietros and admires his style. Pietros is not bragging or boasting; he truly seems to adore his gift – and the man who gave it – and wants to share. Nasir is subdued but kind in his praise of the gift, not wanting Agron to think him sad for not having received one of his own.

However, when Nasir is back near Agron, gently soaping up his back, Agron pulls him close and whispers, “I have a surprise for you as well.” Nasir cannot help it but his heart begins to dance.

Of course the surprise he wishes for the most is Agron’s lips upon his own, and whatever else may follow from there. Still, the notion that Agron was thinking of him during his day apart from the ludus greatly lightens Nasir’s heart.

Not long afterwards, Nasir is back inside Agron’s cell. Just as the evening before, they sit upon the bed with Duro at Agron’s other side.

“I would give gift to both of you,” Agron says, reaching under his pillow. He pulls out a small bag, and places two figs each into Nasir and Duro’s hands.

Both men express their gratitude, and Duro wolfs his figs down with one bite. He looks affronted upon seeing neither of the other men eat.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Duro asks. “Don’t tell me that the barley we had for supper truly filled your belly?”

“Perhaps I shall wait. There is something to be said for waiting to indulge and savoring the pleasure,” Agron says.

As Nasir hears the words, his hand seems to move of its own accord. He subtly places it upon Agron’s thigh.

Duro notices the gesture straightaway and laughs heartily, almost cackling. “I will not keep either of you from… _savoring the pleasure_ then!” Wiping his fingers on his subligaria and still laughing, he adds, “Goodnight, brother. Gratitude for figs.” And with that, Duro leaves the cell.

Nasir’s cheeks once again are warm. Agron’s words about savoring pleasure might have been meant straightforwardly and without allusion to sensual pleasures, but Nasir still finds himself stirred up by them. He realizes he might have been too bold in placing his hand on Agron’s thigh, too swept away by the moment, but he is loathe to move his hand.

Agron is looking down, and he begins, “Nasir…”

“Apologies,” Nasir says, snapping back to their present circumstance and removing his hand. “My hand was misplaced.” He grasps for words. “I am unused to being in company with one such as you.”

“One such as me?” Agron asks, his words light now. He smiles.

“A man who is kind and caring, who brings me gift, who seeks to be certain that I am not harmed or coerced. I find myself as fish out of water.” Nasir pauses and swallows. “I find myself wishing we could savor pleasure now.” He knows it is again a bold, naked declaration of his wants and he hopes it will be received well.

“As do I,” Agron says, and again his gaze shifts downwards. He then shifts his weight. “Nasir. Please retire to your mat.”

Nasir is not hurt by Agron’s words. He understands them. So he simply nods and rises from the bed to lie upon his mat for the night. He finds being on his back to be the most comfortable position for slumber, so with one last stretch, he lays upon his back.

But Agron is clearly not ready for slumber. He asks if Nasir wishes to continue his language lessons, and he does - so they spend some time on that. Agron again compliments Nasir for his skill in picking up the language. And then Agron speaks again. “Nasir. What would you do if you were free? If you could live your life the way you wish?”

Nasir’s first instinct is to admonish Agron to lower his voice lest anyone overhear talk of such dangerous nonsense. But he pushes that aside in favor of answering the question. “I do not know,” he says plainly. He lets out a breath. “I suppose you think me stupid. A stupid house slave who has never tasted freedom.”

“No,” Agron replies firmly. Nasir can hear Agron shift and wonders if he might even be sitting up now. His words are serious as he continues, “I would never think such ill thoughts of you! As you said, you have never known another life.”

“Then tell me. What would **your** wishes be?”

“Mine are simple,” Agron says, sighing. “My own plot of land in a quiet, remote place. Raise goats and have a patch of vegetables to eat and sell. A man at my side, of course, someone to love. And Duro and his wife within walking distance so we can see our nieces and nephews.” Agron pauses. “Never behold arena again. I may be great warrior but I’ve had enough of blood and battle for three lifetimes. Never again be owned, or see another man or woman owned either.”

“Yes, all of that, yes,” Nasir says, looking up at the dark, dingy ceiling of their cell. “I share all of those dreams. Perhaps we can be not too far from a village where there will be musicians so we can enjoy music sometimes.”

“Yes. And a school for the children so they may read and write, and learn something other than warfare,” Agron adds.

“Perhaps some could become artists and make painting and sculpture such as those that adorn the villa. I would pick wildflowers sometimes, too. I do love beautiful things,” Nasir says dreamily.

“Do you?” Agron asks. “Then I will make sure our cottage is near a field where wildflowers grow abundant. I might even place some in your hair if you’d wish it.”

“I wish it,” Nasir says, grinning. He then adds, thinking back to Agron’s words from a moment ago. “Goats, though? I am given to understand that they carry unpleasant smell.”

Agron laughs agreeably. “My uncle raised goats, that is the reason why I thought of them. Their smell was not agreeable, but it was superior to the smells on slave ship that brought me to Capua.”

“I would imagine that fresh air of the farm would render it all tolerable,” Nasir adds.

“Yes.”

Their reverie is interrupted by the sounds of Ashur and two Roman guards walking down the corridor with their heavy boots. “Save your coins, men!” Ashur calls out. “Three days hence, I will bring whores in for those who wish to purchase. Save your coins. Three days.”

Much cheering is heard in response, and Nasir knows that his and Agron’s dream is far from ever becoming reality.

***

That night Barca and Pietros assume their usual positions atop the bed. The bed barely accommodates both men, but if they spoon then the bed suffices.

“Gratitude, again, Barca. I love it,” Pietros says. The arm cuff sits atop their table.

“It is only mere trinket. Do not mention it,” Barca replies. He adds, “I hope Nasir enjoyed his gift. Agron purchased figs – I assume they are for Nasir though perhaps Agron intends to share with his weak brother as well.”

“I am sure they will be appreciated.”

Barca shifts his weight a bit. “Would you prefer sweets?”

“No. I favor jewelry.”

Barca relaxes upon hearing Pietros’ words. Some of the birds scratch around their cages, and Barca always finds the sounds pleasing.

And then Pietros continues, “I still find it odd that Agron has not yet lain with Nasir.”

“What is the matter with that fucking German?” Barca scoffs.

“Reason given is that he does not wish to lay with someone who has been commanded to do so,” Pietros answers simply.

Barca scoffs again. _Agron doesn’t wish to lie with someone who has been given to him? What madness, what insane notion._ And then suddenly he freezes, his body tense and strained.

His thoughts begin to spiral and his body tenses further. Barca’s mind needles at him, poking and prodding him. _What if Agron’s notion is **not** madness? Could his belief be right?_ Barca knows that he himself never hesitated to enjoy Pietros the moment the young man stepped into his cell. He never questioned that it was his right; as the Beast of Carthage, he simply knew that he was entitled to take this gift and enjoy it, same as if Dominus had gifted him with a new adornment for his helmet or a jug of wine. True, it was good to see clear evidence that Pietros enjoyed his attentions – evidence in the form of Pietros’ hard cock - but if Barca had not seen such evidence, would that have changed his actions in any way?

No. It would not have.

Barca’s thoughts continue to grow darker. He recalls events from a few years past. Auctus had perished in the arena at Crixus’ hands. Shortly afterwards Batiatus had hosted large festivity, and Barca had been paraded and lined up with the other gladiators. An object for consumption. Soon, a Roman man had ogled the gladiators and asked which ones were known to enjoy the attentions of other men. Barca shudders visibly as he recalls what happened next. Being forced to submit to the man, to allow him to enter his body. The act bore no resemblance to what Barca had shared with Auctus, and Barca still viscerally feels the after-effects of the disgusting night. Being enslaved to fight as a gladiator is tolerable and sometimes even quite enjoyable for him, but being treated like a piece of meat in this way was like being thrown into a deep pit of degradation. He has tried for years to forget that night but it haunts him still.

_And yet you never questioned your right to Pietros, as Agron is apparently questioning his right to Nasir._

_Perhaps Agron’s way is right and yours is wrong._

_Perhaps you are no better than that Roman who used you._

“Barca?” Pietros asks quietly, perhaps feeling again Barca’s shudders and sensing his disquiet.

Barca grunts quietly and lightly taps Pietros’ thigh, a signal that he’s ready to cease speaking and ready for sleep. _No sense in any of this,_ Barca tells himself. _Agron is a fool, the oaf too sentimental for this world. Throwing gifts at his boy absent any return._

“I am grateful I was given to you,” Pietros says, apparently disregarding Barca’s signal that he’s ready for sleep, apparently still concerned. “I love you to the moon and stars, and back.”

Barca is silent for a moment. Romantic declarations prove difficult. He prefers to show his feelings through gifts and through the gentle way he handles Pietros’ body upon their bed. Barca swallows. Pietros, however, might be wise in this matter right now.

“And I, you, Pietros,” he says.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED

Feedback and comments are lovingly drooled upon. And if you want, find me on Tumblr at Stormkpr.


	3. Chapter Three

Duro begs his brother to lend him coin so that he can enjoy the whores promised by Ashur. “Please, brother,” Duro pleads. “I have not touched a woman since before we set out for the battle that resulted in us here. I have not your willpower or discipline!” he adds, looking at Nasir.

“This is not wise, Duro,” Agron says. “Whores tend to carry diseases.” He firmly meets Duro’s eyes and adds, his voice steel, “Nor will I facilitate you bedding someone who does not truly wish it. You know that Rome’s whores no more chose their profession than we chose ours.”

Duro looks down. “Apologies. You are correct, brother.” He swallows. “Our mother taught us better than that.”

“That she did.” Agron taps Duro’s shoulder. “Do as you have been doing and take care of your own needs. We must strive to follow our moral compass even if no one else does.”

***

Several days pass for Nasir, and he finds them more enjoyable than any that he has lived so far.

He and Agron continue their language lessons each evening before bed. They speak often, using both languages, in the mornings and evenings, finding conversation flowing easily. Agron once purchases a bottle of wine from Ashur, and he shares it with Nasir and Duro, the three laughing and talking together. And Nasir continues to attend Agron in the bathhouse, though he has to admit that it’s a certain kind of agony as well – bathing, shaving, and massaging Agron while not being able to touch him in the more intimate manner which he suspects they both desire.

Whenever Nasir’s schedule permits, he takes his meals with the gladiators too. He sits with Agron and Duro. Although he is much quieter around the large group, Nasir enjoys seeing how well Agron gets along with most of the other gladiators. He is clearly forging friendships with Spartacus, Barca, and a few of the others. There is no love lost between him and Crixus however. Pietros tells Nasir that Crixus is an honorable man, and Nasir feels that to be true, but their peoples have always been at odds and a deep dislike has lodged itself between the two fighters.

Gnaeus is still the most rotten of the bunch, Nasir knows, and he makes the occasional ribald comment. Agron finds a few retorts which hint at the idea that he and Nasir are enjoying each other sexually, and these usually succeed in quieting Gnaeus.

***

Nasir does observe an event most curious one day. He is sitting in the eating area alongside Agron and Duro. With his own eyes, Nasir sees Pietros take a half empty cup of water and quite intentionally spill it upon Barca’s feet. Pietros then says “Ooops” but neither his tone nor his facial expressions indicate any guilt or remorse whatsoever. Barca responds by chuckling and then reaching to hoist Pietros over one shoulder, carrying him off, presumably towards their cell. A few of the gladiators smile as they watch the incident; Nasir has some idea what has transpired but he is a bit baffled too.

“Can you explain to me what happened yesterday?” Nasir asks the next morning, as he and Pietros perform their early-morning preparations of the training area. “It appeared that you spilled water onto Barca deliberately.”

Pietros smiles and shakes his head. He goes on to explain that it has to do with some teasing that he and Barca sometimes do. Shortly after Pietros was first given to Barca, one day he accidentally left one of the birdcages open after cleaning it. The bird eventually returned, “but I was terrified,” Pietros says. “I did not yet know Barca well. I stammered out an apology. He took a step towards me and I was afraid he was going to strike, but he just placed hand on my shoulder and reminded me that he said he would never hurt me.”

Nasir keeps eye contact with Pietros and encourages him to continue, so Pietros goes onto recount the tale. After speaking his words, Barca had raised his eyebrows and allowed the corners of his lips to turn upwards. He had added, “I would turn you over my knee and spank you, but only if we could do it as part of our bedroom play, and only if you would not object too strongly to the idea.”

Pietros had replied, “I would enjoy trying this, if you only bear in mind not to strike too hard. You have no notion how powerful you are. I am mere porter, no gladiator.”

“I would give…gentle spanking.”

Pietros goes on to share that he had enjoyed it – Barca’s smacks indeed were nearly as light as the flapping of their birds’ wings – and so sometimes he deliberately provokes Barca to prompt another session. “As part of our playfulness before sex,” Pietros adds. “A fun game to add some variety , much like adding spice to a stew.”

Nasir smiles genuinely and nods. He is uncertain if he would ever want to try such a thing with Agron someday, but he is glad to now have an explanation for what he witnessed earlier.

***

The morning starts same as most other days. Doctore cracks his whip and the gladiators train. Agron does as he always does – balances between his own training and observing Duro, trying to provide helpful suggestion where needed. Duro is improving, he knows, but Agron fears it is not quickly enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, Agron notices that Doctore is absent for much of this morning. The brotherhood is well-trained enough that they know to keep working, and they do so although a keen observer would know that their pace is a bit slower and more water breaks are taken. At last, Doctore returns and cracks his whip, demanding, “Gladiators! Attend your master!”

Dominus stands above them on the balcony, clearly ready to address the group. Agron listens to his words.

“Festival of Mars begins six days hence!” Batiatus declares. “Our house has been given most prominent place in the games. We will fight – and this house will be honored!” He pauses. “Soon your assignments will be determined and shared with you. I know that none of you will dishonor this house’s name.”

From that point forward, Agron and everyone else can think and talk about nothing other than the upcoming games and which gladiators will represent. Many are excited, some are nervous, but the entire ludus is stirred up.

Doctore later summons Agron over to the side. Duro is in the midst of practicing against Hamilcar; Agron gives his brother one quick glance before striding towards Doctore.

“Yes, Doctore?” Agron asks.

“Dominus and I are pleased with your brother’s progress,” Doctore begins, his gaze upon Duro’s session with Hamilcar. “He will not take to the arena this time though. Do not worry. He is progressing sufficiently well that we expect to see him within the arena another time, and we are not displeased with him.”

Agron nods. Doctore’s words spark both relief and disappointment, though relief defeats disappointment. Duro’s progress is judged as strong enough, he is not in danger of being sent to mines, and that is sufficient for now.

“We will read placements tonight,” Doctore adds. “Yours will be envied.”

Agron’s heart leaps at Doctore’s words. At dinnertime, the placements are revealed. The house of Batiatus will fight the house of Solonius in the primus. Seven gladiators from one house to fight seven gladiators from the other during the prime event of the games. Doctore clears his throat and begins to read the names; it is so quiet now that Barca’s birds can be heard scratching in the distance.

“Crixus. Spartacus. Barca. Agron. Gnaeus. Narto. Duratius.” Doctore pauses to survey his men’s faces. Agron and the others correctly suspect that he has read the names in the order with which each gladiator is esteemed here. “Congratulations. Bring honor to us.”

***

“You cannot sleep,” Nasir says. It is now the night before the games, and from his mat on the floor, Nasir hears Agron tossing and turning upon the bed.

“I cannot,” Agron answers.

“Doctore sings your praises. The other gladiators fear and envy you – I see the looks in their eyes. You **will** triumph,” Nasir says firmly.

“May the gods will it,” Agron says, but his voice carries a limpness which makes Nasir think that Agron does not quite believe his own words. He takes a breath. “I **do** believe that Dominus has selected the best men. Much as I am loathe to admit it about Crixus – or Gnaeus for that matter. If each performs as he is able, we should take down Solonius’ men.”

“Yes. You shall. His men should quake at what they are to face.”

Nasir hears Agron turn over upon the bed. “Yet sleep does not come easily,” Agron admits with a sigh.

“May I place hands upon you and give massage? To relax you.” Nasir is uncertain how Agron might reply but he wants to make the offer. Gladiators are usually absent complaint about aches and soreness lest they be seen as weak, but with the way they have been training the past several days and with the small hints they do reveal, Nasir knows they all suffer aching muscles.

“You may,” Agron answers.

Nasir gets to his feet. In the dark, each sound is amplified and Nasir detected a bit of anguish in Agron’s voice. He reaches Agron’s bed and says, “Shall we begin on your neck and shoulders?” He shakes his head. “I do not know how you manage to wield sword and shield all day long without having the strength of ten men.”

Agron grunts in reply and Nasir gets to work, sitting behind him.

“Perhaps you do have the strength of ten men, and that is how you are able,” Nasir continues. “I do admit that I sometimes look at and admire your muscles. Your strength and power. Adonis himself would be jealous.”

Nasir knows he has gone too far, and Agron says his name softly, stretching out the two syllables into a warning. “Nasir.”

“Apologies. I overstep.”

“Keep working those knots out of my neck and shoulders, and all is forgiven,” Agron says with a laugh. “Perhaps as you work, we should return to our language lessons. That might take our thoughts in another direction.”

“It may indeed,” Nasir agrees. He once remarked to Agron that his native language does not flow with the same beauty and poetry as other languages Nasir has heard, and Agron had to agree.

Nasir continues to massage Agron, and he tries to keep his thoughts away from the god Adonis or Agron’s muscles or any other such topics. He is failing utterly, and he suspects that Agron is as well. He has become fairly skilled at reading the gladiator, and everything from the sounds he allows escape to the sweat upon his brow suggests where Agron’s thoughts may lie.

“That is good. Thank you, Nasir,” Agron says, and again there is a raggedness to his voice that Nasir now recognizes.

“I shall return to my mat now. Goodnight, Agron.”

“Goodnight.”

There is silence for a few moments as Nasir settles back down upon his mat. He looks up at the ceiling. He debates bringing his hand towards his cock to take care of raging lust.

“Nasir,” Agron begins after a bit. “Would you take offense if I were to use my hand on myself now?”

“As long as you would not take offense if I did the same.”

“Not at all. Please do so.”

Nasir nearly yelps out in relief. His cock was screaming for relief and now he will be able to attend to this aching, aching need. He sets his hands to work, and hears Agron do the same. As Nasir has done more than once before, he closes his eyes and thinks of Agron’s hands upon his cock instead of his own. He imagines Agron’s lips upon his own lips, and perhaps traveling lower. He grips and pulls on the hard flesh, working it first slowly and then vigorously. His hand continues to move up and down the shaft, and he hears Agron moan and grunt and then presumably release. Nasir’s release follows shortly afterwards and he does not remain quiet as the pleasure overtakes him.

Now that both men are sated, Nasir decides to make one last bold move today. He knows he has been brave today and he knows Agron has not taken umbrage to his efforts so far. He presses to advantage one last time.

“Among some people,” Nasir begins, “a kiss can mean good luck. May I kiss you?”

“A kiss would be appreciated,” Agron admits. Nasir guesses from Agron’s voice that the gladiator might feel the same way he himself does right now – content and languid. Tonight was not the first time since entering Agron’s cell that Nasir has used his hands upon himself, but tonight he especially needed the release. He suspects the same is true for Agron. And it was the first time neither man hid what he was doing.

As Nasir gets to his feet, Agron adds, “Clean cloth as well, please, if you would.”

Nasir laughs. “I was just seeking one for myself as well.”

Having used a cloth on himself and offering one to Agron, Nasir now sits upon the bed. Agron has moved himself into a seated position.

Nasir’s courage seems to have instantly fled, he notices. He feels Agron’s warm, large body next to his. What they have just engaged in would not be considered “fucking”, but it was sexual in nature, to share their release even though neither man laid hands or eyes upon the other. The sensual feelings from his release still course through Nasir’s body and he has to assume that Agron also feels some residual joy at what just occurred. The warmth from Agron’s body, even his intoxicating scent, are causing Nasir’s heart to flutter like the wings of Barca’s birds.

Summoning his courage, Nasir leans in for the kiss. Once again he is just jolted at the feeling of Agron’s massive form next to his. It is wonderful yet overwhelming too. And then Agron is reaching his arms around Nasir and gently pulling him towards himself. It almost feels like time ceases its march forward, but eventually Agron’s lips touch Nasir’s own. It feels wet and sensual, and Nasir is overfull with emotions. His heart and his body tingle. Agron gently strokes Nasir’s tongue with his own. He pulls back slightly, sucks on Nasir’s lower lip, and again brings their lips and tongues together. Nasir returns the kiss passionately though he wonders if his own efforts might be called clumsy. No matter, Nasir vigorously returns Agron’s kiss. It is like ambrosia from the heavens.

Nasir is also very, very glad for the activity that they have just completed prior to this – if not for it, his cock would be hard as marble right now and he would once again be trembling with the need for fulfillment.

“You have kissed many men before?” Nasir asks once Agron pulls back. He struggles for purchase over his own breathing.

“Just a few.”

“They were fortunate men.”

“Not as fortunate as I find myself at this very moment,” Agron’s voice is rich.

“Gratitude. For my first kiss,” Nasir says. He then adds in German, “Good luck tomorrow.”

With that, the night is over and Nasir returns to his mat, soon to fall into a deep, contented sleep.

***

Before the gladiators depart the next morning, before most of the ludus has awakened, Agron finds Barca ushering him into a quiet corner. His gesture and the look in his eyes contain an urgency that Agron wonders about.

“We do not know what fate awaits us today, brother” Barca begins, his eyes seeming to search Agron’s face. “Years ago my lover Auctus fell to the arena. I have seen many men breathe their last there, and I have myself sent many men to the underworld. If something happens to me today, promise you will take care of Pietros.”

Agron takes a second or two to absorb Barca’s words. He is surprised that the Beast of Carthage would admit to any fears about the future. Agron’s keen mind soon realizes that Barca’s love for Pietros overrides his fears of appearing weak. Agron understands.

“I know you would treat him well,” Barca continues, his words urgent and weighty. “And keep swine such as Gnaeus away from him,” he adds, with a glance to the side perhaps so as to ensure they remain in private.

Agron quietly nods. “I will. Promise me the same, Barca. If I fall, protect Nasir and ensure my brother improves.” Reflexively and against his will, Agron swallows, his mouth dry. “And don’t lay hand upon Nasir unless he wishes it.”

Barca smiles. “Pietros keeps my cock happy. I won’t touch your boy. He is beautiful, though.” And then chuckling at his own joke, he adds, “Nasir shall remain as if Vestal Virgin until he wishes otherwise!”

Perhaps seeing the intense look on Agron’s face, Barca’s eyes then turn serious once again and they meet Agron’s. “Agreed. I will protect your brother and your lover, as you will protect Pietros.”

The two men grasp hands tightly and remain holding the grasp for several seconds.

Agron takes a breath. “Now let’s hope the gods favor us today and we both return here absent injury.”

***

The seven gladiators fighting today were ushered out of the ludus at first light. A groggy Nasir remembers a quick kiss upon his forehead from Agron – and he was then gone.

“How do you abide this?” Nasir asks Pietros. In the early morning dawn, the two young men are removing an empty water barrel from the training grounds to be refilled with water and replaced.

“You were born a slave as was I,” Pietros answers, grunting with the effort of moving the bulky barrel. “We handle it much as we handle anything else. Pray to the gods and cease pretending that anything we do can move fate’s hands.”

“That is how I have conducted my life to this point. And yet now I find it no longer places mind at ease,” Nasir admits.

“Cupid’s arrow has pierced you. May your love for Agron bring you as much joy as my love for Barca brings me.”

“Right now it brings much anxiety,” Nasir says with a breath.

Pietros ceases his work for a moment to look at Nasir. “Do not fear. Our men have made arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” Nasir asks, his eyes wide.

“Barca and I spoke of plans last night. Should he fall, Agron will keep watch over me. And should Agron fall, Barca will tend to you and keep Gnaeus’ filthy hands away.” Pietros nods for Nasir to return to assisting him with moving the barrel. “Barca always keeps his word, so I am certain they spoke and agreed before they departed this morning.”

“They might both fall,” Nasir says and his throat feels even more dry and dusty than usual.

“Cease those thoughts!”

“When will we know results?” Nasir asks. The answer has already been given but he still hopes what he has heard is be incorrect.

“You know the answer. Not until they return. Dominus could send messenger, but he has no reason to. Everyone whose opinion holds value for him is at the games with him.”

“Foolish of me to hope otherwise.”

The two young men place the barrel in its intended spot.

Nasir continues, “I am more worried about Agron dying than myself being given to Gnaeus. Dealing with a brute like Gnaeus I can handle. But the absence of a man like Agron….” He allows his voice to drift off. “How cruel might the gods be, what are the depths of their brutality to pair me with one so kind and loving and then to rip the man away from me mere weeks later??” He silently adds, _And after we had just shared first kiss._

Pietros places his hand on Nasir’s arm. “Turn from worry and accept that we have no influence over events.”

The day passes at an interminable rate. Absent Doctore and Dominus, the remaining gladiators spend just a few hours training. There is much less work for Nasir and Pietros as well.

Following the afternoon meal, Nasir sits upon a bench in the eating area, with Duro sitting next to him. They lazily watch three men play a game of dice. Nasir is pleased with how easily his conversation with Duro flows, at all times and especially today. Duro seems happy every time Nasir speaks in his native tongue, a few times correcting Nasir’s pronunciation. Duro appears in a reflective mood now, and he speaks at length about his and Agron’s childhood.

“I have only just gotten accustomed to the Romans’ insistence upon daily bathing,” Duro is saying. “Agron has told you about the little piglet I used to be?”

“He has,” Nasir says with a smile. Today he is throwing himself into any conversation and any distraction he can find. He spent over an hour earlier speaking with a gladiator called Manius, one who rarely has communicated beyond grunts and whose breath consistently reeks. Duro, of course, is one who Nasir enjoys conversing with.

“I did begin to bathe more frequently once I got myself a girl,” Duro continues. He shakes his head and then tilts it upwards. “I still remember her. Name of Isolde. Fair of hair, clear of skin. We kissed under an oak tree. She was my first kiss.”

“I experienced my first kiss last night,” Nasir says, leaning in closely and whispering. He knows he has to keep this quiet since most of the gladiators have been led to believe that Nasir and Agron are already, as most would term it, “fucking”.

Duro’s eyes grow wide and he leans in as well. Looking at Duro’s reaction, Nasir guesses that the gladiator is equally in search of any and all distractions from worry over Agron’s fate. Duro’s enthusiasm for the topic seems a bit overmuch.

“For that I am glad,” Duro smiles. “I have told my brother many times that you appear willing and he should eat the fruit offered to him.”

Nasir blushes. “His mouth against my own….it is all I can think of today. Well, apart from….” He lets his thought trail off. No need to give voice to the worry that occupies every moment of both men’s thoughts. Will Agron survive this? Will Nasir’s first kiss with Agron also be his last?

***

In the end, the return of the gladiators is almost anti-climactic. Given the ludus’ elevated position atop the hill, the entire household can see when the group approaches. Many efforts are made to count the number of people returning. One man appears to be assisted in walking by others.

Much squinting is done to try to determine the results, but it is Melitta who descends the stairs to share good news with the gladiators. “Victory tonight,” she announces, from the other side of the gate. “Narto is injured but all others are well. Gladiators will bathe and enjoy brief drink to celebrate with Dominus before being returned here.” With that, Melitta hurries off to rejoin her husband.

Cheers erupt as soon as Melitta’s words are understood. Nasir finds himself hugging Duro, Pietros, and almost every other gladiator as well. Many of the men are cheering only because they know that they will share in the rewards, even if only in a small way. Doctore and Dominus’ moods will be elevated, which alone is cause for celebration. They may reward the group with wine and whores. The victorious gladiators might even share some of their coin in the form of rich food and drink. If nothing else, being branded as part of the brotherhood in a successful house brings pride, although a measure of jealousy is not absent either.

Having spent the day in agonizing wait, Nasir finds he now has no trouble at all with continuing to wait until Dominus releases the gladiators from their celebration. Agron is alive and well and being honored. Nasir will wait all night if he needs to, his heart relieved and jubilant, and he will continue to share hugs and glad words with Duro and Pietros.

And at last heavy footsteps and loud words can be heard, and the victorious gladiators descend the stairs to be ushered behind the gate with the others. Nasir watches Pietros rush up to Barca, and the two men kiss each other’s mouths. He is uncertain whether or not to do the same with Agron, but he does stand to the side so that Duro can be the first to hug Agron and slap his back. However, the minute Agron comes into view, Agron’s eyes clearly search for those of Nasir. Even as he embraces his brother, he looks at Nasir. Nasir is pulled into a hug with the two brothers and they remain there for a long time.

***

At last it is time for Agron to leave the common area and return to the cell he shares with Nasir. Agron does not feel tired. Instead his body pulses with excitement and happiness over the win, over the thrill of merely being alive. Being here in the ludus, embracing Nasir and his brother. Feeling Nasir’s warm arms around him, being able to hold his man once more. Agron thrums with energy.

The cheers and greetings by the other men have winded down, and most apparently have retired to their cells for the night.

“Shall we take to bed now, Nasir?” Agron asks.

“If you are ready, then I am ready,” the young man replies.

As they walk towards their cell, they pass the one shared by Barca and Pietros. Flush with the thrill of victory, Agron does not object when Nasir boldly pauses for a moment or two to linger and watch the other couple. Agron does the same. They see Barca flat upon his back, with Pietros sitting on top, thrusting himself up and down on Barca’s cock, howling his pleasure.

Taking a few steps more, Agron and Nasir enter their own cell now. And with that, Nasir turns and faces Agron and reaches upwards to press his lips against those of the gladiator. Agron bends down and returns the kiss without hesitation and without restraint. For Agron, having Nasir’s mouth against his is like earthly paradise. He reaches a hand and runs it through Nasir’s hair.

“Must I **beg** you?” Nasir asks when he pulls back for a moment to catch his breath.

“No,” Agron admits.

He was victorious in the arena but he is defeated here, and he knows it.

Yesterday night he feels they turned a corner, and if Nasir insists upon sexual pleasure tonight, Agron is no longer going to deny either of them. “Our lives are short, and if you swear to the gods that you truly wish this, as I do, then you need not beg,” Agron says.

The price of surrendering his ethics is worth it when he sees Nasir’s eyes light up like a thousand stars, when he sees the beautiful smile broaden across Nasir’s heart-shaped face. “I wish it!” Nasir insists. “I would sell my soul to the underworld for it! Now, share your bed and your body with me!”

With hands and fingers that almost shake, Agron divests himself of his clothing, and watches Nasir do the same. He has never before seen the young man fully unclothed. When all of their apparel has been dropped onto the floor, Agron again steps closer to Nasir and caresses his back. He once again reaches for a kiss.

“To the bed,” Agron says. “We can kiss more easily upon the bed and not have to contend with our height difference.”

“To the bed then,” Nasir smiles, the sparkle in his eyes still rivaling the heavens, in Agron’s estimation.

Agron gently ushers Nasir towards the bed and gestures for him to lie upon his back. As Agron gently lowers himself upon Nasir he hopes that he can delight this man. He hopes he can make it the best night of Nasir’s life. He helps himself to Nasir’s mouth once more, kissing him with urgency, exploring his lips and tongue. It is as if he is thirsty and Nasir’s mouth the one thing that can quench is thirst. One of Agron’s hands roves around Nasir’s body, though his other arm is at work helping to prop himself up. He doesn’t want to place all of his weight on top of Nasir. Nasir is warm, his skin surprisingly smooth.

And then Agron moves himself lower, gently blazing a trail of kisses down Nasir’s body. He pauses to savor the flesh as he moves downwards, kissing chin, neck, belly. He sucks Nasir’s nipples and is rewarded with more cries of delight. And then he reaches his goal and takes Nasir’s very hard cock into his mouth. As Agron uses lips and tongue on Nasir, he feels Nasir’s hand against his hair. And he hears Nasir’s moans which grow only louder and likely are waking up half of the men. Agron takes great pleasure in the act himself too, having Nasir’s cock inside his mouth, being this close to him, knowing he is the reason that Nasir’s groans seem absent all control. After not long, he feels Nasir’s release. Slowly Agron lifts his head, eager to see Nasir’s face.

He is not disappointed. The young man is in ecstasy. He looks as if the gods themselves are delivering joy to every part of his body. His mouth hangs open, his brow is wet, and Agron guesses that Nasir might be incapable of speech right now. Agron gradually moves himself back upwards and lightly kisses Nasir’s mouth.

“I have no words,” Nasir murmurs at last, clutching Agron.

“You taste sweet,” Agron breathes, smiling. He kisses Nasir’s ear and nibbles on his neck.

“Please. Please tell me how I may offer you some enjoyment….” Nasir’s voice trails off.

Agron shifts a bit so that much of his weight is no longer atop the smaller man. “Would you turn onto your belly for me?” he whispers.

Nasir scrambles to do so, as if he has not even a second to spare. Agron lifts Nasir’s hair and plants a kiss on the back of his neck. He deftly places a pillow under Nasir’s hips. “I would get the oil now. If you please, what I would do is not enter your body tonight but instead rub my cock between the halves of your ass. Like this.” He slowly demonstrates. “Would this be agreeable to you?”

“I would agree to anything you suggest, and you know it, Agron,” Nasir replies. “Just kiss the back of my neck one more time.”

“I shall,” Agron says. He takes his time, nuzzling the back of Nasir’s neck and kissing and licking it. And then he is off the bed, taking hold of the jar of oil that was placed in the corner. He dips his fingers into it and reaches for Nasir’s buttocks, massaging them with copious amounts of the oil. He knows he shouldn’t waste it but his earnings in the arena today will enable him to purchase more. When he is ready, he mounts Nasir and brings his hard cock to Nasir’s ass. He begins to thrust, moving his cock between Nasir’s oiled-up cheeks.

“Is this still agreeable?” Agron whispers.

“Most agreeable,” Nasir answers. “I am only a bit surprised that you do not plan to penetrate me tonight.”

“I believe you might find this more pleasant. Absent pain or discomfort. I myself find this activity most enjoyable, and I would have you look back upon this night and think not of discomfort. I would have you treasure it.”

“Oh believe me Agron, I shall!” Nasir insists.

Agron gets back to working himself against Nasir’s rear end, knowing he will not last long. Being this close to Nasir, this intimate with him, experiencing the thrusting of his own hips which brings great delight, and most importantly having earlier brought Nasir something which the young man has never before experienced and clearly loved – it all soon overwhelms him. He thrusts harder and begins to spills his seed. He is not as vocal as Nasir was when his climax hits, but nor is he quiet.

Agron reaches for a towel to clean them both up and then gestures to Nasir. They reassemble themselves so that Agron lies on his back with Nasir on his side, half covering him. It is one of the only ways they can both fit atop the bed.

“Am I dreaming?” Nasir murmurs, one of his hands stroking Agron’s chest. “A man who seeks to pleasure me – and to ensure that I do not take any discomfort. Why do the gods continue to bless a lowly slave?”

“I am the one who has been blessed,” Agron says. He tilts his head so he can kiss the top of Nasir’s.

Nasir is quiet for several moments. He then says, his voice serious, “I would have you inside of me next time. Despite however odd or uncomfortable it might feel at first. And despite your large size. I am certain I can become accustomed to it all.”

“I shall not fight you then! You will get your wish next time,” Agron says. He means what he says, just as he meant what he said earlier. He did not wish for Nasir’s memories of this event to be clouded with remembrances of discomfort.

“This is not how I ever expected my first time to unfold,” Nasir continues, making it clear he is truly awed. “I expected it to be both terrifying and painful in equal measure. At best I expected it to be dull and laborious like cleaning the latrines. Never did I dream that it would be with a man I adore and that it would deliver pleasures untold!”

Agron has to admit that Nasir’s words are like music to him. They are what he has dreamed of.

He murmurs, “I am glad. And I, too, am with a man I adore. One I treasure.”

And then other thoughts seize Agron’s mind. There is much that transpired today that he has not yet shared with Nasir. But he decides to whisper of some of it right now.

“Nasir,” he begins, his lips right against Nasir’s ear, his voice as quiet as he can make it. “As long as we are slaves, our lives can never be full. I might die in arena, you might be sold away. Spartacus has a plan to free us. Be ready. We might need to move as soon as tomorrow.” He pauses. “Soon we shall be slaves no longer.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for any feedback and comments! I hope you enjoy.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

The weeks that followed were like none that Nasir has ever experienced or could ever have dreamed of. He has spent most waking moments feeling terror, exhilaration, or a combination of both.

The house of Batiatus was liberated. Spartacus led the men, with no shortage of help from women such as Mira, to victory. By the blessing of all the gods, both Agron and Duro survived along with Nasir. Having built up a friendship with Pietros as well, Nasir is glad that he and Barca still live too.

Nasir’s heart swells with pride at knowing that Agron played a key role in the operation and took down many Romans. When the battle itself raged, Nasir was able to view only glimpses of it and he wishes that he could have done more - although Agron insists to Nasir that his role of grabbing and carrying crucial supplies such as food was of key import as well.

And better still, in Nasir’s estimation, is the fact that Agron is once again a free man! This makes Nasir gladdest of all and makes every moment of worry and fear pummeling his stomach worth it. Agron has reclaimed his birthrate as a free man and need never again think of perishing in the arena.

Nasir himself can now taste freedom, something that has been denied to him up to this point. It takes adjustment but he likes the idea of it.

There is also the knowledge that Agron is clearly one of Spartacus’ top advisors as their group strategizes their next move. Nasir feels intense pride at that.

He has now been living with all the others for several weeks in their hiding spot beneath the city. The place is cramped and the group’s food supplies grow scant, but the Romans have not found them.

Despite feeling joy at their freedom, Nasir feels constant worry as well. Escaped slaves who are caught face torture and crucifixion. It is almost overwhelming to contemplate, and some nights Nasir cannot sleep. His worries over the future are often assuaged by Agron’s attentions though. He has kept Nasir constantly by his side. All Nasir has to do is look at him to get Agron to place arms around him, or to gently tilt up his chin, or to caress his back and say words of reassurance. Nasir knows he can reach for him whenever he wishes, whenever he simply needs to be reminded that all will turn out well, that this feeling of worry will someday stop eating at him. Agron’s touches and words are balm to Nasir, and as the days go by Nasir slowly begins to realize that he can greet each morning without fear and accept that he, too, is now a free man.

On this night, Agron sits against the wall, and Nasir sits before him, his back resting against Agron’s chest. The rebels’ base underneath the city makes the old gladiator cells seem as luxurious as Domina’s room inside the villa must have been. But they find what comforts they can here. The two men sit upon a mat, and a tattered blanket covers them.

“You seem in a good way today,” Agron murmurs.

Nasir feels Agron begin to again reach his fingertips and begin massaging Nasir’s scalp. Agron is slow and methodical, and Nasir can nearly feel his cares float away. The gesture is immensely soothing.

“I am better today,” Nasir says. He takes a breath, something he has done in the past to calm himself. “It is still difficult to believe all that has transpired. In my entire lifetime, I had only left the villa twice before and now I shall never return to it.”

Nasir has shared the stories with Agron before, of his two forays outside the villa, but Agron asks him to share them again now. Nasir guesses at why Agron is doing so; Agron has always intuited that this degree of change in his life would be difficult for Nasir to accept and that Nasir can appreciate any distraction offered. There is not much detail to Nasir’s stories of the two times he left the villa – both were trips to accompany Domina when other slaves were ill or otherwise unavailable, both times Nasir had been warned that if he gave the slightest reason for suspicion he would be beaten, whipped, or worse. Nasir tells Agron that the noise and the crowds had been interesting and a bit disquieting, though he had also enjoyed seeing the rest of Capua, however briefly. The house of Batiatus had always been his only home.

The two continue to speak. They talk about Duro and how he has already taken up with a woman named Veronica. Veronica was not part of Batiatus’ house; rather she was one of many slaves who heard of Spartacus’ rebellion and boldly escaped to join his band. It turns out that Veronica’s mother was born in the same city as Oenomaus’ mother, and she shares the regal, tall height and dark skin tone of the former Doctore.

“They seem happy together,” Nasir says.

“My brother has been overeager for the attentions of a woman,” Agron smiles. “But in any case, Veronica seems both wise and kind.”

“And Duro as if he would follow her to the ends of earth.” Nasir pauses. “Are all the men in your family so sweet on the ones they care for?”

“I never thought of Duro as sweet, but maybe it is so. He is a different man than the boy who battled the Romans alongside me, so far from here.” Agron then ceases the movements of his fingertips and reaches to kiss the back of Nasir’s head. “We have our blanket,” Agron whispers. “Shall we….?”

“Yes,” Nasir says.

As far as Nasir is concerned, Agron is oftentimes the only other person in the world. Hundreds of others will walk back and forth among the corridors down here and the din of multiple conversations never fully ceases, but Nasir can tune them out when he needs to. He and Agron have their alcove that they sit in now. And they have made much use of their blanket.

They have improvised often during the past few weeks, grabbing moments of intimacy when they can. Agron now lies back upon the mat, Nasir atop him. Their mouths meet. Nasir knows he will never stop being awed at this, at covering Agron’s body with his own and touching his lips to Agron’s. Agron reaches his hands so that he can stroke both men, and it is not long before Nasir has almost collapsed, dropping his head down, crying out, just giving in to what Agron’s hands are doing.

“We fuck as free men now,” Agron says, as he appears to get close to his own release. Nasir sees the pink, the hotness on his lover’s face.

“Yes. Because of you. Your strength. Your courage in joining the uprising,” Nasir whispers back. “Your strong muscles which were chiseled by the gods themselves.” Agron groans and groans most loudly as Nasir continues to praise him. He joins Nasir in reaching his climax.

Upon an earlier occasion, Agron gently pressed Nasir against a wall, knelt before him, and took his hardness into his mouth. Nasir certainly was able to forget all of his worries then too. But when Nasir insisted upon reciprocating, Agron put him off. Bathing has been difficult here. In the house of Batiatus, even the lowliest slave was given a daily ration of water and cloth for bathing, and using it was not optional. No longer here. Agron said he’d prefer Nasir’s lips upon his cock for the first time on a day when he is cleaner and in a place with more comforts. Back in the ludus the night of Agron’s victory in the arena, the two men had hoped to soon engage in more deeply intimate acts, but those will have to wait. Any oil the freed slaves have now is put towards cooking, not sex – and they don’t have the privacy here to use it anyway.

Nasir has no cause for complaint though. Agron’s kisses, Agron’s hands, Agron’s words as they recline upon this thin mat underneath this flimsy blanket are all pure divine nectar. With both men’s releases coating Agron’s belly, they kiss again – until they are interrupted.

“Agron…apologies. Spartacus needs you. He’s assembling you, Crixus, Oenomaus, and Barca for strategy.”

It is Duro’s voice; he clearly stands just steps away, on the other side of the alcove.

“I will be there straightaway,” Agron says.

Nasir rolls off of Agron, though not before planting a quick kiss on his mouth. He knows he spends much time openly and verbally admiring Agron, and he nearly has to bite his tongue to keep from doing it again now. Agron is trusted leader in this rebellion, and Nasir truly could not be more proud.

Once Agron secures his garment, he pauses to look into Nasir’s eyes and touch their foreheads together before heading off to Spartacus. Nasir knows the leaders will come up with a plan to seek better shelter for their group while maintaining their safety.

***

Nasir then joins Pietros, Veronica, and all the former house slaves. Their duties are endless, tending to food, water, medical care, and sanitation for the entire group in these most difficult circumstances. They know they lack the glory of the gladiators, without whom they wouldn’t have made it this far. Most of the gladiators labor still at tasks such as keeping watch, moving heavy items, or heading up to the surface to secure needed supplies.

But many of the former house slaves want to do more, and have finally found enough time to assemble and discuss the matter. Nasir listens thoughtfully.

“We know we shall not stay down here for the rest of our lives,” one former house slave insists. “There will be yet more battles, and next time I seek to do more than carry supplies and run.”

“I wish to fight too,” Veronica says. “I am not weak. These hands, these arms, this back – they have carried trays full of food, have carried children and animals and sundry other things.”

“Nor am I weak,” a third person says. “We lack only the required training. Oenomaus can train each of us on sword and knife and spear so that we can do our part!”

Pietros then speaks. “We shall never be gladiators. But I would learn to fight, so that we can do so if needed. Is it not better to have more warriors than fewer?”

Nasir has been giving the matter much thought during the past weeks, although he has not yet felt ready to discuss it with Agron. He speaks up, “I, too, would train to fight. From having served as porter, I can attest that swords and shields are heavy. Far heavier than they appear to the untrained eye. But that does not mean that we can never wield them. We must all do our part.”

Several other house slaves disagree and do not hesitate to share their opinions, but those such as Nasir, Pietros, and Veronica who wish to train on weapons resolve that they will speak to Spartacus and the other leaders soon.

***

“How do you think Barca will react to your wishes?” Nasir asks Pietros soon after the group has finished discussion. Both men are at work washing dishes and cutlery. Spartacus still meets with his top men so this is not the time for the house slaves to approach their leaders with the issue.

Pietros laughs. “Badly. He shall react badly.”

Nasir raises his eyebrows. “And yet you will make wishes known regardless?”

Pietros takes a breath. “Perhaps I am wrong. I told you of the time years ago when I mistakenly left birdcage open? I had feared Barca’s wrath but all for naught; he was not angry with me.” He tilts his head. “Not pleased, but not angry.”

“This is quite different though,” Nasir says, meeting Pietros’ eyes.

“I know. How do you believe Agron will receive news of your wishes?”

Nasir is quiet for a moment. “He is respectful of my wishes in all matters. And yet this…is such a different matter. My anxiety during the past few weeks has troubled him greatly. Perhaps I can convince him that learning to wield weapons might help me resolve my worries.”

Pietros nods. “Barca has said many times that we need more fighting men.”

“They all have said it,” Nasir adds. “Though I think they intend instead to find more like themselves, more soldiers who fought Rome, more gladiators. I do not think the idea of house slaves taking up arms has crossed minds.”

Pietros takes another breath. “I will discuss this in private with Barca – before house slaves take the matter up with leaders. Better to avoid surprise.”

“I shall do the same with Agron,” Nasir says.

***

“Did your boy speak to you of madness yesterday?”

Barca asks the question to Agron as they stand in line for the first meal of the day. As usual, the underground headquarters is thrumming with noise and activity. Agron is pleased with the decision he and the other leaders reached yesterday. The group will spend today preparing to depart for a remote villa. They will not be able to dwell there long; the villa is not far enough away to fully escape Glaber’s notice but they will be able to replenish supplies and, from there, seek more permanent base.

“I assume you refer to their desire to be trained as fighters?” Agron asks.

“Unless there is a second ill-advised matter that Nasir brought to your attention yesterday as well,” Barca responds, frowning. “Such insanity! The idea of Pietros taking up spear.” He then laughs, “Shall I call him Hoplomachus? Perhaps if we are ever recaptured, we shall face off against each other in arena!” Again, Barca chuckles at his own humor, and then adds, “No, Pietros will stay away from sword and spear and battlefield, and he shall remain with house slaves where he is safe.”

Agron listens to Barca. He suspects that Barca has been eager to discuss this matter with someone – or more accurately, discuss his disapproval of the idea with someone other than Pietros.

“I support it,” Agron says straightforwardly. “Nasir is young and healthy. If he wants to train as fighter, than he should train.”

Agron knew his words would not be well received, and between the widening of Barca’s eyes and the way his mouth appears to open involuntarily, he knows that Barca is taken aback.

“That is madness, Agron!”

“We need more fighters. And Nasir wants to do this.” He takes a breath. ”He is no longer slave. I do not own him now, nor did I ever.”

Barca crosses his arms over his chest. His voice alone almost sounds as if it could spear someone’s chest. “You do not love your boy the way I love mine. If you did, you would perform your duty and protect him,” he growls.

Agron has but a second or two to make a decision. He wishes to punch Barca. His animal instincts tell him to pound the Beast of Carthage into the ground for his audacity, for his absurd statement. But he knows he must fall to reason and restrain himself. The group is nearly absent clean bandages or any type of medication, and they prepare for a mission today. What purpose would a fight serve? Perhaps it is also because of the fact that Agron has spent the past few weeks tolerating Crixus and even forging a path to getting along with him that he finds more patience than he once had. Or perhaps Agron savors the idea of defeating Barca with words today rather than with fists.

So instead Agron meets Barca’s eyes and says firmly, “I love my boy so much that I would see him forge his own path.”

Barca returns his gaze, glaring. “If Nasir is killed in combat, you may not take Pietros away from me.”

“Nor would I seek to!” Agron exclaims, still warring within himself over how much he truly would love to pummel Barca. The man’s words are nonsense. Is this what his objection is truly about? The notion that Nasir might fall in combat and thus Agron might seek out Pietros?

Agron again forces himself to take a breath and fall to patience. “We do not agree on this matter Barca, but do not ever say that I do not love my boy.”

Barca appears to consider his words, remaining silent for a moment, which surprises Agron. Agron guesses that Barca might be fighting his own instinct for combat.

“If you love him then protect him,” Barca finally says.

“Would not protecting him entail allowing him to learn to defend himself?” Agron asks, not hiding exasperation from his voice.

He thinks he sees something else flash across Barca’s eyes, something other than anger. It is definitely not understanding. Perhaps an acceptance of sorts. Agron smiles and adds, “You know, they are no longer _boys_. Each man has passed more than 20 summers.”

Barca laughs and shakes his head. “I will call Pietros man, not boy then. Perhaps my helmet will fit him. Soon he will be strong enough to take down your weak brother Duro.”

Agron gives him a sour look and once more feels this morning to be a test of his patience - and he has not yet even breakfasted! He knows that Barca is being sarcastic and has not changed his mind about the idea of Pietros training. Agron also remembers hearing once – from Nasir, who had heard it from Pietros no doubt – that Barca’s previous lover had been a fellow gladiator who had fallen to the arena. Perhaps that fact is contributing to Barca’s state this morning.

In any case, Agron cannot let the insult to Duro stand, and he tells Barca, “Insult my brother one more time and see us both needing Medicus.”

Barca places a hand on Agron’s chest, and the gesture seems to be done with a certain lightness. “Let us not fight then. Medicus looks as if he is going to expire any day now.”

The two former gladiators share a laugh over that. Barca then steps closer to Agron with a twinkle in his eyes. “I see that you do well at pleasing your…young man.”

Agron’s mood during this conversation has gone from anger to irritation to exasperation to abject confusion. He is unsure at Barca’s meaning or what reply to offer now.

Barca continues, “Happened upon you two in the corridor the other day. You on your knees before him. His cock inside your mouth.”

“A good lover pleases his partner,” Agron says simply. He has to admit that Barca’s conversational skills feel like a tryst inside the arena with Barca coming at many different angles as if to baffle opponent. Agron still plans to best him though. “Doing so may even make one’s lover more eager to take to the bedroom.”

“A fact which is not unknown to me,” Barca says straightforwardly though he again has a sparkle in his eyes. “At the beginning, I did not think to do the same with mere house slave, but I remembered that my lovers before had enjoyed it. And so it is a skill I now employ regularly with Pietros.”

Is Barca now bragging at his skills inside the bedroom? And, by all the gods, _why_? What will the Beast of Carthage bring up next? Agron at this point would almost prefer an altercation with Crixus, and can only conclude that Barca is _in a mood today._ Perhaps simply the fact that Pietros brought up the very idea of becoming a fighter has completely knocked Barca off-kilter.

“We are both skilled in this area then, and both good lovers!” Agron concludes with a wave of one arm, and this time he cannot resist letting out a smile borne of a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Let Nasir and Pietros sing our praises!”

“Indeed.”

At long last they have reached the front of the line, and it is time for them to be served breakfast. Better yet, Spartacus enters the area and seeks the former gladiators. Agron is glad for this perplexing conversation to have concluded.

***

Plans for raiding the villa take precedence over the desires of some former house slaves to begin training for combat. For Nasir, all he can do is know that Agron supports him in this, and that training will commence at some point after the villa is taken. With that, Nasir bestows upon Agron a kiss for good luck as Agron leads the other warriors in the fight for the villa. Once it is secured, a messenger returns to the larger group and they move themselves and their belongings into their new, temporary base. For Nasir as for everyone else, it has all been a flurry of activity – packing, moving stealthily, arriving at the villa, organizing, stocking, guarding, and a hundred other tasks. As always, sleeping is done in shifts so as to ensure ample guarding at all times.

***

“You are exhausted, Barca. Let us take rest now.”

Pietros speaks the words to his lover knowing that Barca never likes to be reminded of any hint of weakness on his part. But Pietros is not about to hold his tongue now. Barca and Spartacus’ other leaders have strategized, worked, and fought to secure this villa absent rest.

And Pietros receives confirmation that his concerns are apt when Barca simply nods and tilts his head towards a hallway. “These rooms,” he says, as he leads Pietros down the corridor, “we reserve them for Spartacus’ leaders.”

Duro stands guard outside of one of the rooms, and Pietros exchanges a brief nod with him. Barca leads Pietros into one of the available rooms. Although the bed appears by far the most luxurious one that either Pietros or Barca has ever rested upon, right now both men want sleep, not sex. Pietros lights one small oil lamp but otherwise the room remains in darkness.

“I miss the birds,” Pietros says, once he and Barca have assembled underneath the covers. The bed is so wide that they need not spoon as they used to inside their cell in the ludus, but their bodies automatically find each other’s anyway.

“We opened cages before we left. Let us hope that they found their freedom as we did,” Barca says.

Pietros then hears Barca take a breath. “Pietros,” Barca begins. “When we broke words earlier. Perhaps my words were harsh.”

Pietros does not need to guess at which conversation Barca refers to. “Such as when you joked about what a fine Hoplomachus I would make in the arena?” Pietros tries to keep his voice somewhere between teasing and serious, though he’s not sure how it’s coming across. Since the men lay in the dark with Pietros’ back to Barca’s front, he can’t see Barca’s reactions anyway. Pietros has learned over the years that Barca does open up more when shrouded in darkness like this. Pietros was hurt by Barca’s jest, yes, even though he understands Barca’s perspective. He also understands that the events of the past few weeks have utterly upended Barca’s world.

“Those words of mine where perhaps ill-advised and I should not have made joke of it. You are keen and smart – and you are handling these changes of the past weeks very well,” Barca says straightforwardly. “But warrior you are not.”

“I know,” Pietros says softly.

“My duty is to protect you. Let me do my duty,” Barca insists. He places a kiss on Pietros’ shoulder. “And you are needed in other areas. You have always had strong memory. Work with Medicus to become trained as healer. He requires assistance, and your sharp memory could be useful in memorizing herbs and potions.”

“I have thought of that,” Pietros says. “Perhaps I will go that path and speak with him tomorrow.” He pauses. “Thank you, Barca. You are right.” He reaches a hand back to just touch Barca for a moment.

With that, Barca groans slightly and pats Pietros’ thigh, his signal that he wants to stop talking and fall asleep. Soon the Beast of Carthage is snoring.

***

“Agron, do your people have a word to describe a sensation when they feel that they have been somewhere before? Even though it is not possible that they truly have ever set eyes there before?”

Nasir asks the question to Agron and he watches his lover tilt his head back. Agron nods then and says, “Yes.” He gives the German word for ‘déjà vu’, and then asks, “Why? Do you have a sensation that you’ve been in this villa before?”

“I do,” Nasir says. “And it is not possible given that only twice before have I ever left the house of Batiatus. But this place seems so familiar.”

“Perhaps it reminds you of Batiatus’ villa,” Agron speculates. He looks around. “This room truly is beautiful.”

The two men are inside one of the villa’s bedrooms. It is lovely, with turquoise colored walls, an expansive bed with plush coverings, a blue and gold rug on the floor, a chest inlaid with intricate designs, oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, and dozens of other details that Nasir appreciates – but does not dwell upon.

He is more interested in the man in front of him and what he himself has stashed inside his waistband. And the fact that Duro has promised to stand guard outside their room and only interrupt them if the villa is on fire or Spartacus himself demands it.

All supplies from the villa have been consolidated and are now under guard so they can be rationed out appropriately. Nasir, however, tucked something into the waistband of his garment as soon as he saw it. The stalks of the aloe vera plant. When Nasir laid eyes on it, he knew right away it was the plant with the stalks containing a substance that makes a fine lubricant, and so he nabbed a few.

“I am proud of you, Nasir,” Agron says, taking a step closer to him. “For wanting to learn how to fight.”

“The thought of someday being able to do something more than run gives me hope. Helps to take away my worries,” Nasir answers. He then smiles and places a hand on Agron’s side. “Agron,” he says quietly. “We have privacy, we have a bed, we have aloe stalks, we’ve both washed. I think now it is time for us to continue what we started in our cell, the night before we left the ludus.”

Agron touches Nasir’s chin, tilting it upwards slightly. “As do I,” he says, matching Nasir’s low, serious tone. “Are you nervous?”

“Not in the least,” Nasir says. “I am excited and hot for you and wanting to take every advantage of this.” He speaks the truth. Desire and anticipation are what he feels most now, along with pure love for Agron and want of being closer to him. Want of having their two bodies join.

“Let us make use of the bed then,” Agron says.

Nasir smiles and his hands get to work, divesting Agron of his clothing. “You are quite nimble!” Agron exclaims, apparently impressed with the speed at which Nasir works.

“My eyes need to gaze upon every bit of you.”

“I am eager too.”

And with that, it is all passionate kisses and hands exploring each other’s bodies. First with the two men standing up, Nasir reaching up on his tiptoes and Agron bending downwards until they tacitly agree to move this to the bed. Lying upon his back now with Agron atop him, Nasir simply basks in the kisses and how glorious Agron’s mouth feels against his own. Agron is as thorough now as he was their first night in the cell, kissing not just lips but also neck and shoulders, and this time kissing a trail down an arm to reach fingers and suck upon them.

“Agron, please - I would not delay. I would have your cock inside my ass as soon as you are hard enough,” Nasir finds himself begging.

“I thought you liked kisses,” Agron hums, this time moving himself back to the vicinity of Nasir’s chest. “You made such lovely noises last time I did this,” he adds, reaching for a nipple and suckling upon it.

Nasir struggles to gain purchase over his breathing. He opens his mouth once more and all he can do is moan.

“Just let me have your lips for a little more and then I shall give you what you ask,” Agron insists.

Nasir regains his control, gently cups Agron’s face so their eyes meet, and visibly pouts at his lover.

“Quickly,” Agron continues, murmuring. “I shall be quick.”

“That is agreeable,” Nasir answers. “But I can feel your cock against me and I believe it to be already hard en—“

Nasir’s words are cut off by Agron’s mouth. Again their lips and tongues meet, again Nasir can only savor the wetness of Agron’s mouth. He returns each kiss passionately. His hand roams from the back of Agron’s head to the side of his face, feeling the stubble on his jawline. He is already covered in sweat.

“The aloe now, Agron,” Nasir says after a bit.

“Oh you are but demanding. Yet I cannot say that I dislike it,” Agron teases. He eases back a bit and fondles his own cock, taking just a few moments to stroke it, showing it off a bit for Nasir. Nasir’s eyes are wide. “I am ready for willing recipient.”

“What position shall I take?” Nasir asks. He has to admit he is nearly giddy. He knows that from a physical standpoint, the act might not actually be bliss and that discomfort might be the best physical sensation he can hope from out of it. His excitement stems from the idea of their bodies joining this way, of bringing about Agron’s release this way.

“Turn onto your side, and I will enter you from behind like this. We are to be like a pair of spoons.”

“A pair of spoons. Yes, I like that,” Nasir smiles, assuming the position.

“We can touch each other all over this way. Feel each other’s bodies. Your back against my chest, my arms around you. You would only need to turn your head a bit and our mouths can again meet.”

“Then cease description and assemble!” Nasir orders, knowing that Agron likes the playfully demanding side of him.

He does. Agron again chuckles and again teases, “I find myself indeed quite enjoying your demands.” He breaks open the aloe stalks and sets about applying the substance to Nasir.

“That feels nice,” Nasir says after a few moments. “Your fingers feel nice.”

“I am going to apply the aloe onto my cock as well. That will help when I enter.” Agron’s tone is serious instead of light. “Nasir, please…when I enter if it starts to become painful or too uncomfortable, you will tell me?”

“I will tell you,” Nasir says. He decides to mirror Agron’s serious tone. He has wanted this badly for a while, but he does understand the import of these moments. Agron’s fingers are moving slowly and deliberately, and Nasir has always understood the mechanics of this but now for the first time he really sees how vulnerable the reality of being penetrated is. For one second his mind goes down a dark path, thinking of how he could have been given to someone like Gnaeus, how a night like this could have played out so differently – and he can only say a silent prayer to all the gods for Agron. He relaxes once more.

And it helps Nasir knowing that Agron as well understands the importance of this and the need to take his giant, powerful body and be gentle with it. He enters slowly, just pressing the tip against Nasir’s opening for a long while, giving the muscles more time to relax.

“May I move forward a bit?” Agron whispers after more time.

“Yes,” Nasir says.

He does so and then waits. “How does this feel?”

Nasir smiles. “You are very large indeed!” He adds, “I have stroked it with my hands but I think now I truly understand how large you are.” Having handled all the gladiators’ swords and sheaths, Nasir now has the image in his head of a large sword going into a sheath that might be just a bit too small for it. He shares that thought with Agron. He realizes his voice trembles just a bit now as he speaks.

“Remember we can always cease,” Agron insists. “Continue this another time.”

“I would like to continue now. Just nice and slowly as you are doing.” Nasir then adds, “You are very patient. Is it hard to be so patient?”

“No. Not when I think of the rewards we will reap together.” Agron then leisurely kisses the back of Nasir’s neck and strokes his chest. He moves his mouth down to kiss Nasir’s shoulder.

And then eventually Nasir feels that Agron can move forward more, and tells him so. It continues slowly and languidly from there. Agron’s thrusts are gentle, his hands continue to stroke Nasir’s body, his lips continue to kiss whichever parts of Nasir they can reach, his tongue licks along his ear.

“How is it?” Agron whispers, still moving against Nasir but gently.

“It is good,” Nasir says. “I feel very full!” he adds with a smile. “I like it.” His words are true. His body is adapting and becoming used to it, but the sensation of this much fullness is nearly overwhelming.

And still, Agron’s thrusts could only be called soft and respectful. Over the years Nasir has heard various house slaves talk of sometimes feeling utterly “pounded” like spices when put to mortar and pestle. Pietros has even said a few times he felt that way, and Nasir guesses that Agron is striving hard not to do anything near to that now.

“How is it for you?” Nasir asks, wondering truly what it might feel like for his lover.

“Delectable,” Agron answers, with a grunt. “An agonizing sort of delectable because it is so good.”

As his lover continues to thrust gently, Nasir grows more used to the sensations and starts to think that perhaps Agron needs to move more quickly and forcefully in order to gain release. The times they used their hands on each other – or even the time in their cell when Agron thrust between Nasir’s cheeks – Agron seemed to need animalistic, powerful thrusts near the end in order to climax. Nasir contemplates how to bring that about, and then he recalls from their previous lovemaking that Agron seems to enjoy hearing him speak, especially about the erotic.

“I remember when you first put lips on my cock,” Nasir murmurs.

“Oh!” Agron exhales and his voice is excited. “Please tell me what it was like. What it was like for you.”

“It was truly wondrous. You have lips and tongue blessed by the gods. No one had ever sucked my cock before. It felt like mulled wine coursing through my body. I thought I might die from the sheer pleasure of it all. You remember how I woke the entire ludus with my cries? I could not help myself, Agron. It felt so good. You brought me endless delight.”

Nasir judges that his words are having desired effect. Agron moves more vigorously now, grunting unabashedly and seeming to have finally allowed the wants of his body to take over. For just a few moments it is almost overwhelming for Nasir but he is excited to bring about his lover’s release. Agron’s groans grow even louder, his body having traveled from warm to _burning_ , his movements almost furious, and he at last releases inside Nasir.

Agron takes some time before it seems he has purchase over his breath again. He then says, “I would please you now.”

Nasir shifts position so that he is now facing Agron, lying on his side. His own cock is mostly flaccid at the moment. He enjoyed being penetrated at last – it was truly thrilling to have his lover inside of him and to feel that they were two becoming one - but the physical sensations were just too unusual for him, and his arousal had flickered out. “I would cuddle and kiss now rather than do anything else.”

Agron opens his mouth as if to protest but then seems to think better of it. “I would respect your wishes. On the condition that you let me suck your cock and let you soar next time.”

“I shall.”

Nasir simply basks then in the joy of being within Agron’s arms, of seeing how flushed Agron’s face is and how his body still seems to burn a bit. “I shall never be cold again,” Nasir says with a smile, lightly running his fingertips over Agron’s arm.

Agron chuckles at the comment and lazily strokes the back of Nasir’s head. His own brow is very damp with sweat.

“I still have never taken your cock into my mouth,” Nasir observes.

“Well it is spent now so we shall have to wait for another night as well. All in due time,” Agron replies sweetly.

And then there is a knock upon the door and Duro’s irritated voice. “Are you two finished? I thought I heard the sounds of goat being slaughtered and assume it to have been Agron’s climax. I would cease guard duty now and instead seek time with Veronica. I also need to use the latrine.”

“Go, then!” Agron yells back. “If Spartacus needs me now, he may enter room.” And then quietly, just to Nasir, he adds with a raise of eyebrows, “And stumble upon us naked.”

“He has seen it all inside the ludus’ bathhouse,” Nasir responds. He nuzzles his head against Agron’s chest. “How did you learn to become such a lover? You fuck like a god.”

“There was a man in my village,” Agron recalls, his voice rich. “It was known that you went to him if you wanted to lie with another man. He had not your beauty nor your way of making me listen to every word that falls from your lips. Conversation with him was awkward, and he had missing teeth, pockmarked skin. But he was a lover! He taught me the arts of pleasure. How to take and just as important, how to provide.”

“I thank the gods for this man!”

“I thank the gods for you,” Agron says, his voice deep. The lovers continue talking, wrapped in each other’s arms. And perhaps by the favor of the gods, they are not interrupted for quite some time. They simply remain snuggled together, sometimes kissing, sometimes talking about nothing in particular. Nasir eventually does grow hard, and Agron’s eyes light up. “It seems I can now do as I promised and suck on your cock,” he smiles. He seems to happily shake off his own languidness and set about better satisfying his lover.

* * *

_More soon! Please let me know what you think!_


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Spartacus and the other leaders make plans for the group to soon depart the villa. With their supplies replenished, they next plan to take the city of Sinuessa. It is self-sufficient and it can serve as a permanent base for the growing group of warriors and other ex-slaves. They may even be able to make it into a home.

During the few days remaining at the villa, Spartacus directs Oenomaus to begin training those former house slaves who wish to learn to fight.

Agron knows that this means that Nasir’s wish to train is now going from idea to reality. The former gladiator wishes to follow advice he once heard his mother give his father: “do not harp overmuch on it.” Agron cannot remember what specifically his mother was referring to, but her general idea of being calm about an impending event and not dwelling upon it overmuch seems sensible.

And yet Agron cannot quite follow this advice. Long before the first training session, Agron decides to start giving Nasir a few lessons. He wants Nasir to begin the training with an advantage, and he is pleased when Nasir takes to his instruction right away.

When it is time for the session with Oenomaus to begin, Spartacus orders Agron away, to lead a small hunting party. Loyal to his leader, Agron prepares to depart. He plants a quick kiss on Nasir’s mouth and watches him walk to the courtyard with the other trainees. Agron then seeks out Duro.

“Watch the training,” he tells Duro.

“To what end?” Duro asks, brow knit in confusion.

Agron’s mouth opens, and then closes with no sound. So Duro continues, “Brother, I will stand around and watch Oenomaus work with Nasir and the others if you truly wish it, but you know there is not much I can do. I cannot jump into the middle of sparing session and prevent injury to Nasir. Nor I can switch his mind with my own so that he suddenly intuits all of my knowledge of fighting.”

Agron searches his brother’s face and finds that Duro appears almost amused at Agron’s concern for Nasir. Agron takes a breath, unsure of his next move.

Duro takes a step closer to his brother and puts his hand upon his arm. “Spartacus gave you task to occupy yourself this morning. Fall to it,” he directs, his voice serious. Duro then smiles slightly and adds, “And cease worry over your little man. He is stronger than he appears.”

Agron nods, and then recalls that Duro’s woman Veronica is also among the house slaves preparing to take up arms. “I should have asked you, brother, what you make of your woman deciding to train.”

“What do I make of it?” Duro asks, with a smirk. “I see it a good thing,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I take enjoyment at the idea of a strong woman atop me in bed. I much prefer to lay on my back and have Veronica above me.”

Agron considers telling Duro that he did not require that much information but decides against it. In any case, he is glad to see his brother happy and loved. He sets his mind to leading the hunting party and is off.

***

Agron’s hunting party is successful, and after several hours they return to the villa with their bounty. Once they have given it over to the people working the kitchen, they are directed to the dining area so they can quench their own thirst and eat. Agron smiles upon seeing Nasir sitting at a table alongside Duro and Veronica – and is rewarded with a sparkle in Nasir’s eyes. He and the others look is if they are finishing up their own meal. Nasir stands to greet him. Agron is momentarily floored at the visible effect he has upon Nasir, and an observer would note his flushed cheeks. He kisses Nasir’s mouth.

“Come, sit,” Nasir says. “You must be in need of food and drink after your hunt. How did it fare?” He takes hold of the pitcher and pours water for Agron.

“I shall tell you all about it,” Agron answers, his eyes still needing to take their fill of Nasir. “But truth be told, I am more eager to hear of your day.”

Duro begins to share, heavily praising both Veronica and Nasir for their work. Nasir has sustained a slight wound upon his arm, and Agron knows he should not fuss or worry over it too much though that does not prevent his heart from heaving. He looks closely at the bandage.

“Pietros bandaged it up well and gave me an herb to help with the pain,” Nasir says. “He is assisting Medicus now. Do not give even a moment’s concern to the wound.”

“Easier said than done, my love,” Agron replies. “But I shall try to put it out of my mind.” He gently places a hand upon Nasir’s thigh and continues gazing into his eyes. “I am so pleased at hearing Duro’s report.”

“I am pleased at how much more powerful I feel now than I did before,” Nasir replies. He continues to meet Agron’s gaze. “Although I understand that I have still an ocean to cross in order to become true warrior.”

“I wonder,” Agron says, looking down for a shy second and smiling. “Did you seek to train to fight so as to become more like me?”

“Oh, but you flatter yourself my love,” Nasir responds, his eyes shinning as he returns Agron’s smile.

“Well!” Duro exclaims, standing up. Veronica joins him. “I cannot help but to note that this feels more like a private moment, so Veronica and I shall take our leave.” He then turns his head and asks, “But I also must note that you both called each other ‘my love.’” With that, Duro places an arm about Veronica’s waist and they depart.

Agron is momentarily speechless, and it appears to him that Nasir is as well. They simply remain looking at each other for a while. Agron has abandoned all thoughts of eating despite his normally-robust appetite.

Oenomaus then comes by and sits down with the men. Although Agron knows that Oenomaus is no longer “Doctore”, no longer the imposing man with the whip who must be obeyed, his instinct is to defer to him.

“Well done, Nasir,” Oenomaus says, absent preamble. “I am not effusive with praise, but you surprised me. If you were nervous, you did not appear so.”

“Gratitude,” Nasir says.

“I am glad to hear this,” Agron adds.

“You were among the best today,” Oenomaus continues, looking at Nasir. “Bear in mind that being among the best of this lot is not saying much, and it will take time before any of you are solid fighters. But you and the others have set foot upon the path and taken steps.”

Nasir nods, and Oenomaus goes on. “Pay no mind to Gnaeus and the others. I will break words with him. I suspect Barca already has done so as well.”

“What transpired with Gnaeus?” Agron asks, visibly taken aback. He is starting to form ideas of what Gnaeus may have done.

Oenomaus stands. “I shall take my leave now, as I am certain Nasir can provide requested information.”

Agron turns to Nasir once Oenomaus has departed.

“It is as you might imagine,” Nasir says with a slight shrug. “Gnaeus and some of the other gladiators stood around mocking us as we began to train. I was surprised when they did not heed Oenomaus’ command to cease. Perhaps they were eager to rebel against the days not so long past when he held whip and held sway over their lives. In any case, Barca came along and beat Gnaeus to silence him, and training continued.” Nasir takes a breath. “It did not much matter, not to me anyway. I was prepared to work and to ignore barbs. Gnaeus never has any words of import anyway.”

Finished describing events, Nasir places a hand over Agron’s. “Do not give it more thought. I know this angers you.”

“It angers me,” Agron says, finding that just giving voice to it helps. “It angers me greatly.”

“Duro intended to tell you, I think.” Nasir smiles. “Then his mind went in another direction.”

Agron is quiet for a moment. “I will speak to Barca about this since he silenced Gnaeus. I will convey gratitude to the Beast of Carthage. And I will keep close eye on Gnaeus. Who were the others who joined him?”

“I am not certain. Truly I paid them no mind.” Nasir tilts his head. “I think Narto was one.” He is quiet for a few seconds and then adds, “Put this out of mind; their words did not deter me from my goal.”

Agron takes a breath. “I shall do as you say.” He then smiles. “Duro was right. You called me ‘my love’.”

“You did so first,” Nasir rejoins, a small smile upon his face now too.

“That I did. I love you, Nasir.”

“And I, you.”

“Our work is over for the day,” Agron adds, casting a quick look about the room. “You have trained and I have hunted. Shall we wash and retire to our room?”

“We shall. I believe my lessons for the day are not complete and I have more yet to learn. Lessons of a much more pleasant nature.” He brings his lips towards Agron’s ear and gently bites the lobe. “Let us see what else you have to teach me.”

***

For Nasir, it is an experience he has never before partaken in. In the house of Batiatus, the only slaves permitted to submerge their bodies inside bathtubs were gladiators or those who attended to Dominus and Domina. Nasir is accustomed to cleaning himself via a bucket of water and a washcloth, like most of Batiatus’ slaves had. And yet here Nasir is, inside a warm bath with Agron, scented oils the finishing touch upon the water.

“I believe it so, that a warm bath will help sore muscles,” Agron murmurs.

Agron sits with his back against the tub’s side. Nasir is atop Agron, between his legs.

“I should need it as I am already feeling what you had warned me of – sore muscles from work with sword and shield.” He pauses and then asks, “Before you came to Batiatus, had you ever bathed inside a tub before?”

“Rarely. Usually we bathed in river or lake. When winter was upon us, we had a tub and my mother would sometimes pour heated water into it and order Duro and me inside. It required much effort to heat needed amount of water.” He smiles and shakes his head. “When we were old enough, of course, we had to fetch and heat our own water. It was balm for sore muscles.”

“This indeed feels nice. Your labors back then may have been worth it.”

They remain inside the tub until the water starts to cool. This time Duro does not stand guard outside of their room. If Agron is needed by Spartacus or Oenomaus, then he and Nasir will simply accept the interruption though they hope to the gods that they might be granted more such luxurious time together.

When they both have stepped out of the tub, Nasir offers to towel off Agron, but Agron shakes his head. “Remember, you are no longer a slave. We are both free men who choose each other.”

Nasir understands Agron’s words to be true. He gathers, too, that Agron might require assurances that Nasir truly has chosen him and does not remain by his side simply because he was once a gift from Batiatus. Although he understands all of this, Nasir does wish to assist Agron is drying off – whether it is because he loves the man or because he cannot easily discard his years of being a house slave, Nasir does not know. No matter. Agron has already finished toweling himself off and gestures to the bed.

After taking just a few moments to once more appreciate the sight of Agron nude, Nasir happily joins him atop the bed. This time Agron lies upon his back and beckons to Nasir to climb atop him. They had lain like this many times during their weeks spent underneath the city, when Agron insisted serving as a pillow for Nasir. Nasir finds there is a special sort of excitement in being atop Agron, of covering the strong man’s body with his own. Although he feels that he should be slightly cold since they just emerged from a bath that had cooled, Nasir feels the warmth and fire from Agron’s body and it warms his own. He happily reaches for Agron’s mouth and kisses it deeply. He finds Agron ardently returning the kiss and reaching a hand to caress the back of his neck.

“Shall we continue our lessons?” Nasir asks playfully. “I enjoy kissing you and I would also enjoy my mouth being employed towards other pursuits. Those which I have yet to learn.”

“Normally I would entreat you for more kisses,” Agron smiles. “And yet your offer is quite tempting.”

“And you have delayed fulfillment of it upon more than one occasion,” Nasir adds. “So I would implore you to permit my inexperienced mouth onto your cock now.”

Agron chuckles. “Then let us not delay. And give no mind to thoughts of being inexperienced. You were inexperienced when you first took up spear and shield, and yet you are already on your way to becoming strong fighter.”

Nasir loves the compliments and words of praise – and he receives more that evening as Agron encourages him. With a bit of gentle guidance from Agron, Nasir finds that he takes to this endeavor quite well. He begins by doing what Agron has done for him many times, licking and encircling the head of his cock. It is warm and pleasantly musky, and it is already leaking a bit of fluid. Nasir then holds Agron’s base and takes as much of the rest of his cock into his mouth as he is able. Then he slowly slides up and down. He is rewarded with many moans from Agron, as Agron seems to enjoy allowing his hands to roam over as much as Nasir’s body as they can.

Agron speaks, his voice a bit ragged. “Nasir,” he manages. “Tell me you take pleasure from this.”

Nasir lifts his head and answers, his voice intense. “I take pleasure.” He returns his mouth to its target, this time licking the underside of Agron’s cock, gently moving towards the wrinkles of skin where the shaft joins the head. Agron had done the same to him and Nasir had quite enjoyed it.

“My pleasure is your pleasure. You understand that,” Agron groans. “I need for you to take enjoyment.”

“I understand your words, my love,” Nasir says, ceasing the work of his tongue and lips again. “Trust that I love having your cock inside my mouth. And it is the same for me, that when you take pleasure then I take pleasure.” And then with a laugh he adds, “Now I cannot speak and suck at the same time, so let me return to this. I would have your release down my throat!”

Agron resumes moaning, apparently satisfied at last that Nasir enjoys his endeavor.

And once again, the gods seem to favor the couple. The two men continue making love, with Agron eager to reciprocate, and they remain uninterrupted.

***

Medicus has set up one room inside the villa to use to treat the injured and ill. Although Spartacus has indicated that they will not dwell here much longer, Medicus says that he likes having the space. He continues to train Pietros.

When Barca enters the room, Medicus is sleeping in a corner and Pietros is lining up various bottles and jars. The former gladiator steps up to Pietros and kisses the back of his neck.

“I am proud of you. Already people speak about your skill,” Barca says.

“It is nothing more than bandaging wounds and bringing Medicus the proper instruments when he is working on someone,” Pietros says. He remains facing away from Barca, hoping for another kiss. “But I shall learn more. We spent hours yesterday on herbs and their properties, and he shared with me how he tries to determine what ails a given patient.”

“Good. So you…do not regret that you are absent the training sessions that Nasir and the others are partaking in?”

Pietros turns to face Barca. “Not at all. This is good role for me, with Medicus.”

“My heart gladdens. I would not see you ever carry spear and shield. **_I_** will protect you.”

“I know. I am glad for that. And may the gods forbid that you ever have more injuries, but if it happens, I may soon be skilled enough to treat them myself. Absent Medicus.”

Barca smiles and strokes the side of Pietros’ face. Pietros briefly wonders at matters of the heart and how they work. Are all men and women truly at the mercy of Cupid? Despite his years with Barca, Pietros still craves his touch and his approval. Just seeing Barca’s smile now sets Pietros’ heart to beating more rapidly. He takes a hand and places it upon Barca’s side. Pietros never fails to marvel at Barca’s muscle, his strength. And even more so at the fact that there is a gentle soul underneath it all. A perfect man, no. But one who truly loves Pietros.

“We are alone here,” Pietros says softly. He then smiles and glances at Medicus. “He rarely wakes absent shaking him. Vigorously.”

“Alone we are then,” Barca says, returning the smile. “Is there something you require?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Pietros bites his lip and nods. Sometimes he enjoys feigning shyness or hesitancy, and Barca clearly understands that it’s but another love game they sometimes play.

“And what would that be?” Barca teases, kissing Pietros’ neck. His hands begin to travel. “Perhaps you can show me.”

Later, Agron enters the room; he is seeking out Barca to determine what transpired with Gnaeus yesterday. As he opens the door, Agron sees Barca upon his knees before Pietros, with Pietros’ cock inside his mouth. Agron quickly makes an exit and decides to seek Barca out at another time.

***

Preparations are rapidly undertaken, and Agron finds most of his waking hours spent strategizing alongside Spartacus, Crixus, Oenomaus, Barca, and a new addition. The former champion Gannicus has now joined their group, bringing much-needed insider information about their goal: the city of Sinuessa.

There is much discussion and strategizing around the best way to take the city, and it is agreed that they will do so in phases. Spartacus, Crixus, Gannicus and Barca will sneak into the city and meet up with Gannicus’ friend Attius. Once they have procured weapons, they will open the gate and allow the rebel army in, to take the city.

“It does not seem that long ago. That day where we saw our men off to the arena and we remained back at the ludus, worrying.”

Pietros speaks the words to Nasir shortly after watching Barca depart with the others. They are working together assisting with packing provisions from the villa, so that the rebel army may soon follow Spartacus and the others.

“I remember that day as if it were only yesterday,” Nasir says, squatting beside a large sack of grain and tying it tightly closed. “How nervous I was, watching Agron leave for dreaded arena! You calmed me.”

Pietros nods. “And yet today I find I cannot be calmed. So many times I have seen Barca leave to fight in the arena or join Batiatus on some ill-advised scheme. This feels different. Sneaking into a Roman city, when he and the others are wanted fugitives!”

Nasir rises and stands next to Pietros, placing a hand on his arm. “They now stand leaders of a rebel army, like my Agron,” Nasir says. “Barca and the others once made Capua quake with fear in the arena. Now they make all of Rome fear.”

“But how shall they maintain their disguises?” Pietros asks, exhaling. “Barca is the largest gladiator, and of Carthage. Will not the gatekeepers at Sinuessa know immediately their purpose?”

Nasir is silent for a few moments. “Remember what you said just now. Barca was often summoned to accompany our former Dominus on one shady errand after another. He always acquitted himself well. It shall be no different this time.”

Pietros resumes folding the cloths he had been working on and placing them inside sacks. “Your words are true. I just need my heart to believe them so the butterflies in my stomach will cease.”

Nasir glances out a window at the position of the sun. “It is time for me to join the others for our training,” he says.

“Go then. I will finish packing up this area.” Pietros then recalls, “With Oenomaus on same mission as Spartacus, who is tasked with leading training today?”

“Agron.”

“I thought it might be so. Will it not be odd to be trained in combat by your lover?” Pietros asks.

“Perhaps. And yet since we left the house of Batiatus, my life has been full of unusual sights and experiences. We cope better than we think we can. Months ago I would not have thought that I could have learned a foreign tongue, let alone learned to pick up spear. Now I can do both.” He pats Pietros’ back. “You shall be reunited with Barca soon. I am certain of it.”

***

Agron has spent the early morning thinking through how he will approach training Nasir and the others who are becoming fighters. Although Agron has not been able to witness Oenomaus’ previous sessions, Nasir has shared with him the approach taken by the former Doctore. Nasir has said that Oenomaus was surprisingly patient and mild, clearly understanding that his charges are not the captured soldiers he used to work with but rather former house slaves who need a gentler hand.

Agron resolves to take the same approach. He also knows that his instinct will be for him to go too easy on all of them, especially Nasir, but that he will need to fight that tendency. There would be no point in conducting a training session if the end result is merely to coddle.

It begins well. Agron demonstrates a few moves with Duro, and then has his students pair up and begin sparring. True, Agron’s gaze continues to roam towards Nasir – who is currently sparring with a young man whose name Agron cannot recall – but he walks among the group observing the duos and providing instruction. He sees Veronica sparring with another woman and thinks that they will need to eventually train opposite men – since Rome’s soldiers are all male.

And then he hears a voice from the sidelines. Gnaeus has strutted up to the courtyard and is not wasting any time. He begins hurling insults at the trainees. Narto and a handful of others are there too, though Gnaeus is the vocal one. In between expletives, Gnaeus conveys that they are wasting time, that only real gladiators and soldiers carry worth, that it is painful to watch “boys and girls try to fight as real men!”

Duro shouts back at him, “If it is so painful, then stop watching!” A few people chuckle at Duro’s retort.

Gnaeus looks to struggle for a second or two for a reply – quick-witted, the man is not. He then hurls forth a new string of insults at Duro, ending with, “These little boys should be trained to get fucked, not to fight! After I kill your worthless brother Agron, I will take Nasir for my own bed! I will bend him over a table and grab his hair and fuck until he bleeds.”

Agron now understands what it is like to have one’s blood boil with rage. He has been angry before, he has killed enemies in combat before, but this is the first time his livid eyes actually glaze over. He strides over to Gnaeus, all fury and instinct.

It is done within a matter of seconds. As Narto, Duro, and others watch – and as the training session grinds to a halt – Agron shoves Gnaeus. Gnaeus shoves back, and they begin to fight. Agron surprises even himself with how quickly he gains the upper hand. Gnaeus either was not expecting so much force from Agron or – more likely – has ceased the work of training since the day he departed the ludus. As obscenities fall from Agron’s mouth, he soon finds himself on top of Gnaeus and he shoves the other man’s head against the concrete. Satisfied with the resulting smack and the way it shuts up Gnaeus, Agron bashes his head against the concrete once more.

After that, he stirs no more and it dawns on Agron that the animal Gnaeus has breathed his last. His blood stains the concrete.

Agron stands looking down upon the man, blinking. He has killed before, in battle and inside the arena. The adrenaline that seized him mere moments ago is already starting to drain. His intentions were not to kill Gnaeus but no matter, the deed is done.

He becomes aware suddenly that Nasir is standing next to him. “Agron,” Nasir begins, his voice small and distant. “Did you kill him?”

* * *

_The final chapter will come soon. Thank you again for comments and feedback! Any requests for the finale?_

_Also, if you were wondering about the reference to concrete above, Google tells me that Ancient Romans did, indeed, have concrete. It sounds like they made it by mixing lime and volcanic rock._


	6. Chapter Six

_**Welcome to the final chapter!** _

**Chapter Six**

* * *

“I am not angry, Agron. Your action was **not** unjust or immoral.”

Nasir speaks the words to his lover and watches him. Agron faces the wall of their room, his breath heaving.

“To kill a man,” Agron begins, “when not upon battlefield or arena…any gods would say it is immoral.”

Nasir takes a few steps closer to Agron and places his hand upon his shoulder. “The gods allow a man to kill in order to defend himself – and those he loves. Gnaeus threatened me.” He pauses. Agron turns his head and meets his eyes. “He threatened both of us. He said clearly that he would have you dead so he could force me, break my body,” Nasir says with intensity. “You had reason to fear for both of our lives.”

Agron appears to take in his words and he slowly nods. “Duro said the same just now.”

“Dozens of us heard what he said and understand the severity of threats made. You reacted as needed. Spartacus will understand. I broke words with Pietros just before now as well, and he said that Gnaeus threatened him in the past as well. Barca will support your action – and as he does, so shall Crixus as the two of them are close.” Nasir pauses. “Gnaeus will threaten no longer. It is welcome relief.”

Agron nods. “I would battle Jupiter himself to keep you safe. And I shall always give all to defend those I love.” He then adds, “Just know that I am not absent all regret for the action I have taken. I do not take it lightly.”

“I know. Truly the consensus is that Gnaeus caused more harm than good among our ranks. Spartacus will have more gratitude than anger at your action.”

“May it be so,” Agron takes a breath. “If your training continues to progress as well as it has so far, soon you shall need a protector no longer.”

Nasir smiles. “Your words may be true. I surprise even myself with how well I handle spear now.” He tilts his head. “But I do enjoy having you as protector as well. Is it possible to have both? To become competent on spear and yet still desire your protection?”

“I do not see why not,” Agron replies, also smiling. “I admit that I love being your protector – and yet I equally love the idea of someday fighting Rome alongside you. Of seeing you become fierce warrior.”

“Life is full of contradictions. And yet we manage.”

“That we do.” Agron pauses, and then adds emphatically, “And either way we are equals. Both of us free men now.”

***

Led by Agron, the rebel army moves towards Sinuessa and once the signal is given from Spartacus and the others on the opposite side of the gate, the city is overtaken. Much chaos ensues as the rebels work to ensure they are safe and any surviving Romans are not a threat. Agron and the other leaders are immediately put to work ensuring adequate food and shelter for their people.

Through the chaos, Barca searches for Pietros. He asks several people where the injured are to be housed, but no one knows. Back at the villa they had just departed from, Medicus had set up inside a large, open room. Although Barca has been inside Sinuessa longer than the rest of the rebels, he has no idea where the medical area – and thus Pietros – may be. He spends hours wading through the throng, oftentimes being recognized as one of Spartacus’ leaders and being pulled into resolving this or that.

Finally, at long last, someone points and says, “I was told the wounded are housed in large building off that way.” Barca’s search is narrowed and he at last opens the door to the right building.

He finds a flurry of activity. Several wounded and injured are lying on pallets or mats, and Pietros is flitting from one patient and one task to another. Medicus is there as well, sitting on a chair in the middle of the room and directing Pietros. Barca recognizes two other former house slaves there, also apparently assisting Medicus. The injured Oenomaus is there and appears to be resting, tended by Melitta.

Pietros looks up from his work and sees Barca, his eyebrows flashing briefly in recognition and respect, his smile expansive. But it is clear that Pietros’ work keeps his hands full now and he cannot take time to do anything more than that. Barca continues to stand and observe. He knows not to be surprised at how quickly Pietros has become competent. Back in the ludus, Pietros had displayed the same quiet skill – standing always at the ready to anticipate Doctore’s orders, bringing this weapon or that shield, lighting the fires when the sun began to set, always in motion. True, Barca had noted and appreciated it back at the ludus but he takes another moment now to silently praise Pietros’ competence as he continues to tend to his patients.

“Don’t just stand there, Beast of Carthage!” Medicus croaks out at last. “We need more water. Bring us some.” He then adds, “Much gratitude.”

One corner of Barca’s mouth tips upwards, and he decides not to lash back at the notion of being ordered about like a house slave. He’s too grateful for the fact that Pietros is alive and well, and despite his annoyance, he recognizes that Medicus has done well with training Pietros and taking care of the rebel army. He makes eye contact with Pietros once more, and then Barca turns to find the requested water.

***

The group takes a moment to celebrate. Just as with their last headquarters, Spartacus and his top generals take rooms inside the largest villa. This evening, they – along with their lovers – sit around a fire pit in the villa’s courtyard. It is Spartacus, Agron and Nasir, Crixus and Naevia, Barca and Pietros, and Gannicus with a woman whose name Nasir cannot recall. Oenomaus, injured during the fight for Sinuessa, remains inside the medical area with Melitta.

It is colder in Sinuessa than Capua, so Nasir is happily sitting in between Agron’s legs, enjoying the warmth from his lover’s body. He smiles to see Pietros and Naevia taking the same position with their lovers. In the distance, someone plays the cithara, and the sweet music adds a layer of festivity to the night.

As the group eats and looks at the fire pit, Nasir listens with interest to their conversation although he is a bit lulled by the fire too. He is usually not privy to Spartacus’ conversations with his generals, though his proximity to Agron always gives him a sound idea of what is happening. Spartacus and the others talk and decide to hold Sinuessa as long as they can, with the intention of spending the rest of their lives here. It sounds plausible. They will need ships and an arrangement with pirates to ensure provisions of items that they cannot grow or make here. But this city should be hard for Rome to breach.

“And we cannot let our guard down for one moment,” Spartacus is saying. “We must ensure all areas vulnerable to attack are under constant guard. How many fighting men do we have yet?” He then amends, looking at Naevia, “Fighting men and women?”

Agron gives an answer, and Spartacus asks, “Did you subtract Gnaeus from that count?”

“I did,” Agron says. “With pleasure,” he adds.

Nasir automatically tenses at mention of Gnaeus.

“We have spoken on this matter before and I will not raise it again,” Spartacus says, still looking at Agron. “I can neither condone nor condemn your action.”

“His action was just,” Barca says forcefully. “Gnaeus threatened Pietros in the past as well.” He shakes his head. “Years ago I defeated him in the old arena, but editor allowed Gnaeus to live. Would that it had been otherwise.” With that, Barca uses a knife to slice off a piece of his pear and pop it into Pietros’ mouth.

Spartacus seems to accept that, the discussion moves on, and Nasir once again relaxes. He did not sense overmuch tension from Agron when Gnaeus’ name came up, and Nasir is glad for that as well. It looks as though the matter is buried, along with Gnaeus’ body.

“Nasir,” Spartacus begins, a little later on, “tell me how progresses your training and the training of the others like you?”

“It progresses well,” Nasir answers. With Oenomaus injured, Agron and Duro have been leading many of the training sessions. Although he thinks that Spartacus already knows this information, Nasir describes some of the moves they have been working on, the weapons being used, and which people consistently show up and work hard during training.

“Good information to hear,” Spartacus says. “I also would know your mental state in this matter? Do you feel confident? Fearful?”

Nasir smiles. “There is always fear. Every time I reach for spear and shield, I ask myself what a house slave like me is doing. I am no real Hoplomachus,” he adds, with a smile as well as a quick glance at Barca. He then shrugs. “But I feel less afraid each time, and I remind myself that we need all the hands we have to defend ourselves against Rome.”

“I admire what you do,” Pietros speaks up. “Training despite fear.”

“As you yourself should be admired,” Spartacus says to Pietros. “Melitta is full of praises for how well you have run the medical area.”

Nasir and Pietros exchange a smile, and Nasir sees Barca squeeze Pietros’ shoulder. Nasir knows the fact that Pietros offered an opinion just now without being asked to or called upon is a victory. The two of them are meek house slaves no longer.

Nasir relaxes against Agron’s warmth and gives himself to enjoying the rest of the evening. The delicious meal he and Agron are sharing with the group. The sun disappearing from the sky, the evening turning from dark blue to black. The crackle of the fire pit and the singing of the insects.

***

Several days later, Duro and his woman Veronica approach Agron and Nasir. As the case inside all the rebels’ previous bases, meals here are taken communally; all food is rationed. Agron and Nasir had just breakfasted, and Duro and Veronica now take seats near them.

They speak of smaller items first such as their plans for the day. Agron is to check in with Spartacus and continue his work anticipating any and all weaknesses they might face in holding the city. A group of pirates arrived recently, and Agron will join Spartacus in negotiations with their leader. Duro will lead the training session for the new fighters today, with Veronica and Nasir taking part.

And then Duro clears his throat and looks downwards for a moment before meeting Agron’s eyes. “There is another matter which we wish to break words upon,” he says, with a quick glance back at Veronica.

“Go on,” Agron encourages.

“I wish to return to our homeland,” Duro states. “We are not Romans, and I would like my children to be born where we grew up. The lands East of the Rhine.”

“Of course, I would see it so as well,” Agron says, knitting his brows together, confused. “But unless the gods intervene, we will never return there, brother.”

“It is possible,” Duro insists. “The four of us can make the journey. Moving stealthily and carefully. Using coin or force when needed. It will take months or perhaps years, but we could make our way back there.” He again looks at Veronica and adds, “Veronica has never been to her mother’s homeland and does not know the local tongue. So she is content to make our future – our children’s futures – in Germania.” He pauses. “We supposed that Nasir might feel the same.”

Agron glances from Nasir to Veronica to Duro. “Brother,” he says, exhaling, his eyes wide. “Regardless of our wishes, you propose a task most impossible. We are four rebels, former slaves. We are all branded. You and I are both big, burly men who stand out as former gladiators. We will not be able to move absent notice.”

“As I said,” Duro insists, “we can use coin or force when stealth fails.”

“How would we obtain coin?” Nasir steps in, asking. “We have but little here.”

Veronica smiles. “All good house slaves know the art of thievery. You must know that, Nasir.”

“Truthfully, I do not,” Nasir says straightforwardly. “It is not something that I ever pursued, lest Batiatus or wife divest me of fingers.”

Agron shakes his head while subconsciously reaching to hold Nasir’s hand, glad the young man possesses all of his fingers. “Duro, this sounds like disaster to me. We cannot fight or buy our way back to our homeland. I cannot believe you would even contemplate risking all that we have here. We would be captured, separated - the Romans would probably crucify us for what we have done.”

“I like it here well enough,” Duro says, spreading his hands. “But this is not our home. Our children will grow up absent hearing our mother tongue. We are German men, and to Germanic lands we must return. If we are careful, we can do this. Do you not wish to return to the land of our birth?”

“I wish it,” Agron says with uncharacteristic softness. “But it is something that can never be.” He continues to hold Nasir’s hand.

The brothers go on to discuss the subject for a long while, with Nasir and Veronica occasionally adding words. No agreement is reached. They decide to discuss this again another day.

***

Nasir seeks out Pietros later that day. He is in his usual spot, the medical room. He dispenses a vial to one man, as a woman – one heavy with child - sits nearby.

“Do you have a moment?” Nasir asks Pietros. “I see that you are always busy.”

“The work here never ends, dispensing medical care for a city of thousands,” Pietros smiles. “But I shall always have a moment for you.”

Nasir returns his smile. Although he knows that Rome will forever be a force to be reckoned with, will always be metaphorically at the gate, his heart feels so much lighter here in Sinuessa. He has friends like Pietros. He is often sought out after practice by those who seek his guidance and wish to know how he managed to progress so rapidly with his use of spear. And he hopefully has a long future here at Agron’s side.

“Gratitude,” Nasir replies. “I wondered only whether Barca has ever spoken with you about returning to the land of his birth?”

Pietros is silent for a moment, his knitted eyebrows displaying his confusion. “Returning to Carthage? No. There is nothing there for him. Rome feasted on it and spat it out, his people all enslaved or scattered to the winds.” Pietros pauses. “Once he showed it to me on map. Traveling back there would take years, even if we could do so undetected as fugitives.” He smiles, “What on earth has brought this question to mind?”

Nasir explains it. Pietros listens quietly and puts a hand on Nasir’s shoulder. “I hope reason will prevail, and you and the others will remain here. I cannot see any way that such a journey could be undertaken safely.”

“My place is forever by Agron’s side,” Nasir answers. “I know you feel the same about Barca.” He tilts his head. “And that is why I wondered if you and he had ever held similar discussion.”

“I hope that Agron and his brother will reach sound decision.” Pietros takes a breath, and then begins anew. “Nasir, while you are here, I realize there is something I would in turn like to discuss with you. Have you had any interactions with the men from Herculeo’s ship? In particular one named Castus?”

***

Several days later, Barca and Pietros are asleep inside their room when their slumber is interrupted. “Pietros is needed!” a man calls. “Lia’s time is here and she needs you to help bring forth the baby.”

Barca hears the man’s voice and grumbles, “Cannot a midwife be fetched for such purpose?”

“Lia is specifically requesting Pietros. She says none other will do,” the man insists.

Pietros touches Barca’s shoulder. “I will be back soon. Return to slumber,” he says softly. And with a quick kiss upon Barca’s cheek, he is gone.

Barca attempts to do as Pietros suggested and return to sleep. This is certainly different from their life inside the ludus, in every way. Barca had left the ludus often, accompanying Batiatus, serving as body guard, fighting in the arena – yet Pietros was always there. Either in the bathing area, inside their cell, upon the training sands, or inside the eating area. His entire world had been confined to, more or less, these four spaces. And yet Pietros has adjusted with apparent ease to their new life. Barca reminds himself to do the same though he has to admit that he does not enjoy waiting for his lover.

When Pietros returns, the morning sun is just beginning to display itself and a few birds have begun to sing their early songs. As Pietros washes himself at the basin, Barca asks about his night.

“Mother and baby are healthy,” Pietros reports. “Mostly I observed midwife. I do not know that I did much other than watch, and hold Lia’s hand and hold washcloth to forehead - and yet she insisted upon naming daughter Petra! I have a namesake now.”

“Your presence there must have been more important than you believe it,” Barca remarks. He holds his tongue from making other comments. The birthing of babies belongs to midwives and women; the idea of Pietros attending just seems bizarre to Barca, but he sees no reason to share that thought. If the mother wanted Pietros there and the boy wanted to help, then who is Barca to say otherwise? Barca silently corrects himself, remembering what Agron once said. Pietros and Nasir are young men, not boys. He will need to remember that as well. So many adjustments!

“Are you fully awake or seeking more sleep?” Pietros asks, returning to the bed.

“I am awake now. You also appear full of energy.”

“I am. I feel quite spirited, in fact. It is not every day that a babe is named after me.”

Barca reaches for Pietros and pulls him down atop him. “Then let us make use of our time. I quite enjoy mornings now, especially since you no longer must leave my bed before sunrise in order to set up ludus’ training area.”

Pietros seems to enjoy how Barca pulled him atop of him, and he slowly kisses his lips.

“Do you remember the first time we lay like this?” Barca asks, smiling. “When I pulled you down atop me?”

“Yes,” Pietros answers, also smiling. “I was terrified, having no idea what to do atop here! I was accustomed to kneeling before you or kneeling on the edge of bed.”

“Yes,” Barca says, his voice and thoughts far away for a moment, his smile gone. “But you remember our third night together, do you not?”

Pietros takes a breath. “It was wondrous and I could not believe what was happening. You bid me to lie upon my back and you kissed me all over my body. Everywhere. Then you sucked my cock. I almost could not believe what I was experiencing, and the pleasure was so intense that it was almost hard to bear. I could not think why you would pleasure me this way.” He pauses and smiles, “I could not think at all!”

“I should have been more giving. From our first moment together.” Again Barca’s thoughts are upon the past and his voice is rich. He often silently curses Agron while at the same time silently thanking the German for the way he helped prod him gently, to see things differently.

His thoughts are interrupted by another kiss from Pietros. “I harbor no regrets about the past,” Pietros says quietly. “I was in awe of you back then. I still am. And I always took my pleasure from our coupling. As you saw, presented ample evidence!”

Both men laugh at the truth of Pietros’ words. And then he continues, “But yes, the first time you told me to get atop you. I did not know what you wanted me to do; I had no idea where you wanted me to kiss. Did you like having ears kissed or shoulders nibbled upon – we were still new to each other. You would move your finger around to where you wanted me to kiss, to guide me. I liked it.”

“I did as well.”

Pietros begins doing as he has so often done, placing a trail of kisses upon Barca’s body and working his path downwards. “Of course I should not have doubted or worried overmuch,” Pietros says. “I had a suspicion that my mouth would end up here.” He reaches Barca’s cock and begins to lick.

Later, when both men have been amply sated, they lay curled up together. Instinctively they have returned to their spooning position.

“There is a matter I would break words with you about,” Pietros begins.

The hairs on Barca’s neck stand up. Pietros’ voice sounds suddenly quite serious. And deep down Barca knows that for the past few days, there have been clouds over Pietros’ eyes, as if there is something he wishes to discuss.

“Please speak,” Barca encourages. “I will listen.”

“The pirates who Spartacus has been negotiating with. Several days ago I found myself sitting at the table next to theirs during midday meal. I believe you were with guards at the gate at that time. A young pirate named Castus….expressed interest in me. I told him firmly that I was neither interested nor available. He sought me out in medical area yesterday, and I again informed him that I was not interested. Hamilcar overheard the exchange, and said that he would go after Castus to inform him that my lover is the Beast of Carthage and he had best stay away.” Pietros shakes his head. “I do not know if anything has transpired since, but I wanted you to know of this. And of the fact that I do not have any interest in this man Castus.”

Barca is silent for a few moments. Pietros is warm against him, a nice counter to the cool morning air. “I do not like hearing of this,” he says finally, his tone initially a grumble. “But I trust that it is as you say.”

“I do not think he will approach again, not since Hamilcar conveyed message. But if he does, I will repeat what I said. That my heart belongs to another and that he should keep distance.”

“If you should ever need me to seek him out and make that point, let me know. But in the meantime, I understand that you can handle the situation.” Barca plants a kiss on Pietros’ shoulder and decides to leave it at that for now. He understands now that Pietros’ heart may belong to him, but his body and soul are his own and they are both free men. He trusts Pietros.

***

“That is quite a mark.”

Nasir stands looking at Pietros one morning. Inside the medical area, Pietros is bandaging a minor wound Nasir sustained during training. He dropped his guard and was nicked by wooden sword. However, it is Nasir who is commenting on a mark seen on Pietros’ neck.

“Yes,” Pietros says with a slight blush. “I broke words with Barca about the pirate I told you of, Castus. He was remarkably calm about the entire thing, and not at all angry.” He tilts his head. “But that night when we lay together, he did suck the skin on my neck and leave this bruise. He has done so before a few times over the years. Agron has never marked you in this way, has he?”

Nasir shakes his head. “Do you like it?”

“It is not my favorite thing; nor do I dislike it, though. In the right setting, it feels good.”

“The mark is quite…bold,” Nasir observes.

“Yes. In any case, I hope you never meet this Castus.”

“I hope _Agron_ never meets him!” Nasir replies, and both men share a laugh.

***

Agron had hoped that Duro and Veronica might forget about their idea. It truly is insanity, the notion that they can travel all the way to Germania. But Duro continues to bring it up, and this day Agron sees he needs to end Duro’s notion once and for all. He must bring his brother to reason.

“I have told you, brother,” Agron insists. “The plan is madness. We will be caught and enslaved once more, and likely nailed to wooden cross.”

He and Duro stand inside Agron’s room. Agron looks him in the eyes as he speaks.

“I wish to return to the land of my birth!” Duro says, flailing his arms. He starts to pace. “It is every man’s birthright to live and die in his homeland. We can begin the voyage on Herculeo’s ship. Veronica fully supports me in this. And yet my own brother does not,” he concludes, his voice bitter as vinegar.

“I cannot leave here,” Agron says, his voice cracking a bit in desperation. “We have a life in Sinuessa. My place is with Spartacus and his cause. I am one of his right-hand men. Nasir and I have lives here, friendships, safety.”

Duro is silent for a moment, his eyes hard as olive pits and his fists slightly clenched. Agron thinks he might be biting his lower lip. “Perhaps Veronica and I will go alone then. Absent you and Nasir.”

Agron feels as if Duro has punched him in the stomach. He takes a moment to just hear those words and feel the way his heart shatters. He is speechless.

After much silence, Agron speaks. “Do you wish to know what I believe the worst day of my life was?” he asks at last, his voice soft and thin. “It was not the day we saw our parents slaughtered, brutal as that was. It was the day that you and I stood in chains at the slave market, waiting to be sold. Do you remember what I said to you before the auction began?”

Duro is silent for a moment. Then he speaks somberly. “You said ‘today might be the last day we ever look upon each other’. Then you touched my forehead with yours.”

“I wanted to say also that I loved you,” Agron says, his voice ragged. “But,” he forces a laugh, “it is hard to say such words to a brother, so I left it unsaid even thought my heart was breaking and I had to fight to keep my legs from trembling with fear at the notion of losing you. Then Batiatus purchased us both, and I nearly cried with happiness and relief at the knowledge that we would not be parted.”

“I did not see that upon your face,” Duro says, his voice even. “You looked strong and resolute as you always do. But…but I knew in my heart that you felt that way. From the way you constantly watched over me at the ludus.”

Agron takes a step closer to his brother. “Let us never be parted in this lifetime. Stay here with me. Let Nasir and I be uncles to the children Veronica bears you. You and I will teach them our language and our ways.”

Duro is quiet. He then takes a breath and smiles. “I suppose we are happy enough here. And your points have merit. I will speak to Veronica and tell her I have changed my mind. She told me she would be happy either way.”

Agron pulls Duro into a tight hug and remains hugging him for a long while. Duro finally speaks again, “And I will say the words that you did not. I love you, brother.”

Agron says, “I love you too.”

***

“Thank the gods. You helped him to see reason.”

Nasir is extremely relieved. He knows that had he himself insisted upon staying in Sinuessa, Agron would have honored that. But Nasir would not have done so – had Agron wished to set out for this impossible trek to Germania, Nasir would have been by his side.

“I am not sure if it was reason that settled the matter or his heart,” Agron admits. “But nonetheless, Duro’s foolish idea is a thing of the past. Our future is here.” He pauses. “And I am glad that my brother knows that I love him.”

The two men are sitting inside their room. Although their room is absent a balcony, it does have a window with a view of the courtyard. They gaze at the outside as they drink wine. They look at the courtyard’s fire pit and fountain. Because winter approaches, flowers are no longer in bloom but there is a stone pathway that will allow one to walk among the plants in spring and admire them. During Nasir’s years as house slave, he sometimes tended plants and so he looks forward to bringing this garden to life when the season is right.

“Yes,” Nasir agrees. “Our future is here. With gratitude to you and Spartacus and all the others who were brave enough to take up arms against Batiatus.”

“And you and the others who have since learned to take up arms,” Agron adds with a tilt of his head and gleam in his eye.

Nasir loves to see that sparkle in Agron’s eyes. He knows it is a look of joy that few others are fortunate enough to ever look upon. Nasir reaches for his mug again and sees that the last drop of wine is gone. “Come,” he says. “Shall I heat up water for our bath?” He pauses. “I should say ‘shall we heat up water’?”

It may yet take some time to understand it fully, but Nasir knows he is no longer house slave and no longer a gift to be given from one man to another. Gone are the days when he acted as servant and tended to Agron inside the ludus’ bathhouse. Filling their spacious tub here with hot water is quite an endeavor, and one to be undertaken jointly.

“I would admit that I am more eager to take to our bed,” Agron says. “Perhaps a quick wash instead and then…whatever delights might await us underneath the covers?”

“I find that most agreeable.”

The men use their pitcher of water and their washcloths to cleanse their bodies. And because Nasir likes his hair to be clean and shiny, he reaches for his brush and runs it through his thick hair many times.

“It pleases the eye to see your hair stroked by the hairbrush,” Agron murmurs as he stands behind Nasir. “Of course there are other things that shall be stroked tonight.”

Nasir can only smile at Agron’s honeyed words, and at the fact that the former gladiator has such passion and adoration for him. Nasir decides to do just a bit of teasing and perhaps delay the proceedings a bit.

“Shall I put on some perfume first? Before we commence the stroking that we love so much?” Nasir asks. The former owner of this dwelling had quite a store of perfumes, carrying scents such as rose petals, myrrh, lily, and sandalwood.

“If you wish it,” Agron says, divesting himself of his clothing. “But do not delay too long.”

Nasir smiles and makes a show of opening the ceramic container and applying the rose-scented liquid to his wrists.

“Quite lovely,” Agron says, watching Nasir apply the perfume. “I see perfume is much thinner than the substance inside flask beside our bed.” He pauses. “A substance to make use of soon.”

Nasir can again only suppress a giggle. Agron is so eager. Back in the ludus he displayed such restraint, knowing he needed to be gentle with Nasir who was then inexperienced. In Sinuessa now, it would appear that Agron wishes to make up for lost time and abandon moderation. Nasir debates responding with something like, ‘So it would. I must return to brushing my hair now’ but in truth, he is eager as well and sees no good reason to force Agron to wait. So he turns to Agron’s arms, reaches up on his tiptoes, and begins kissing his lover.

The kiss feels as warm and tempting as always, and soon the two men lay upon their bed, with Agron atop Nasir. Agron alternates kissing Nasir’s mouth, gently sucking upon lips, and showering other parts of Nasir’s body with kisses. Nasir follows along, running fingers through Agron’s hair, stroking the side of his face and back of his neck.

“Nasir,” Agron breathes. “What do you like best about our coupling? Tell me what you would have now?”

“I enjoy all delights which you have introduced me to,” Nasir answers. “I would like for you to choose our paths to delight this time. We seem to reach new heights of pleasure each time.”

“I will choose then,” Agron says, drawing a breath and nuzzling and licking Nasir’s chest. “But perhaps you could tell me some of the aspects you most enjoy when we come together.”

Nasir smiles. Agron still loves hearing Nasir’s words, and Nasir will oblige. As Nasir speaks, Agron reaches a hand to stroke Nasir’s cock.

Nasir answers his question, though his breathing becomes ragged. “I most love our kissing. The warmth when we come together. The feeling of connection, our two bodies becoming one.” His voice is ragged now. “And more obvious things as well.”

“Like this?” Agron asks, before beginning to lick at Nasir’s cock.

“Yes,” Nasir whispers. “Like this.” He lays back for a moment, just enjoying the long strokes Agron’s tongue takes before he goes on to lap at the head of Nasir’s cock. Nasir responds with moans. He resolves to try to gain purchase over his breathing so he can engage more in the types of whisperings that Agron enjoys hearing. After more moans and struggles, Nasir is able to speak breathlessly again. “I enjoy your cock inside my mouth too. I enjoyed yesterday when I thrust between your thighs, and would do that again someday. I do love your thighs.” That indeed had been enjoyable. Agron had inserted a well-oiled finger inside Nasir as he had thrust so. And today Nasir is rewarded by the moans coming from Agron’s mouth as Agron continues to pleasure Nasir. “And having your cock inside my ass. That is a special kind of pleasure.” He then smiles, though he knows Agron cannot see it; his smile is more at the idea of the effect he knows his words will have. “Your cock size must rival that of Jupiter! And yet somehow we manage. You are able to enter my body and fuck me, delivering such sensations to us both!”

His words did indeed have their desired effect. Agron looks up and his facial expression can only be described as begging. He looks as if a starving man who has just spotted food.

“Please Nasir…” Agron manages.

Nasir grins and turns over onto his belly. Although he prefers making love in such positions where they can look into each other’s eyes or spooning where they can have full-body contact, Nasir also admits that he enjoys this position as well. He knows it provides an enticing visual for Agron, and there is something animalistic about being on all fours, which provides a nice change. As Pietros would say, it adds some spice to the stew.

As Agron always does, he takes his time. Pausing to, as Nasir had anticipated, admire the view. Slowly he applies the salve to Nasir and to himself. And he takes a moment to shower kisses on Nasir’s entire back. Then with slowness and finesse, he begins to enter.

The sensations are no longer unfamiliar to Nasir, and he too is able to lose himself in the ecstasy as Agron thrusts slowly. Agron is strong enough to reach around with one hand and use it to stroke Nasir’s cock which is fully hard and fully enjoying the proceedings. Their bed creaks and both men unabashedly howl with pleasure.

“You own my heart,” Agron breathes a little later, when their bodies are entwined and covered in sweat.

“My heart will never beat for another,” Nasir whispers back.

They remained curled up together and drift into sleep, content and ready to enjoy the remainder of their years with their loved ones in Sinuessa.

* * *

**THE END**

**Thank you for all your comments and feedback! Next week I will upload a new Nagron fic called "Autumn Moonlight"**


	7. Epilogue

_T/W for references to domestic abuse_

* * *

“How is it that we soar to new heights each time?”

Nasir asks the question to Agron one afternoon. They are wrapped in each other’s arms, sated, sweaty, content.

Agron places one kiss upon Nasir’s lips and yet another upon the side of his face and another upon his ear. He has kissed every inch of Nasir’s body over the years and yet he forever wishes to do it again, forever craves it. He sometimes feels like a thirsty man who cannot take in enough water when it comes to placing his lips upon Nasir.

“Once I thought that new heights were reached after battle against Rome,” Agron answers. “The excitement from the fight, from bloodlust. And yet we have lived here for four peaceful years. So I believe it is our love for each other which makes our bed a place of such ecstasy.”

“I believe it too,” Nasir murmurs. He rearranges himself to rest his head upon Agron’s chest. Agron uses his free hand to leisurely stroke Nasir’s hair. Nasir exhales. “Some days I cannot believe that the gods came to bless us so much.”

“Indeed they did,” Agron murmurs.

He knows that the gods truly did smile upon them by placing them together, bringing Spartacus to them, the rebellion, and the years of peace in Sinuessa. But it is not easy either. Rome has been unable to retake the city, but they have blockaded it. Any food the rebels eat or medicine they need has to be grown within Sinuessa, fished from the sea, or traded with Herculeo – whose prices climb ever more steep. Most people here are hungry. Not dangerously so, no. Everyone here except for the youngest of children has lived as a slave and thus already knows deprivation. Still, it is not easy.

After a while, Nasir shifts his position. Agron gently grunts in response. “I would remain here, upon our bed, until it is mealtime,” Agron says softly. “We have no urgent tasks upon us now.”

“Then let us remain,” Nasir agrees. “Stroke the back of my head and tell me more about my beautiful smile. I would ask you to rise and pour us some more wine but I do not wish to be absent your warm touch right now.”

A loud knock then sounds upon their door. Agron and Nasir tense up and look at each other. They live in the same place as they have since the rebels overtook Sinuessa: they have a room within the city’s largest villa, along with Spartacus’ other top generals. They have not been expecting anyone, so the knock comes as a surprise.

“Duro and Veronica asking us to take Klaus again?” Nasir questions.

“We just returned him!” Agron replies. “Peace and quiet at last, sending the toddler back to his parents’ arms. Perhaps it is Spartacus, requiring something.”

Nasir looks at his lover. “Stay,” he commands. “I will see to the door.” With that, Nasir reaches for a loincloth, secures it about his waist, and opens the door.

***

Nasir sees a woman standing at the door. She holds a child within her arms, one who is younger than Klaus. Two other children clutch at her skirts, and a forth sits in the hallway, clanging two rocks together to amuse herself. Sinuessa is large enough and Nasir has tried to meet many of its citizens, but it became a nearly impossible task years ago when the doors were opened to admit any former slave. He does not believe he has broken words with this woman before.

“Food,” the woman rasps. “We need food.”

Nasir, taken aback for a moment, quickly regains his composure. “Meals are served twice a day inside canteen.”

She shakes her head. “It is not enough. I have four children. And it is known to all that Spartacus’ top men have additional provisions.”

The woman’s words are not entirely untrue. Spartacus and his generals do not hoard food, but those who train every day to defend the city are permitted extra rations. Although Rome seems to have left Sinuessa alone other than the blockade, none of the rebels wish to let their guard down. Most have deemed it fair that those who prepare to fight to defend the city be allowed extra rations.

Nasir takes a breath. The woman presses. “Please,” she says. Her words come out quickly and she nearly stumbles on them. “You are two strong men, Spartacus’ best and you must have extra food. My name is Rufina. Branded by the Romans as my mother was before her,” she says, twisting her free arm as she can to show the brand. “Given Roman name, though my mother was Thracian. My son is named Cato, and my daughters Prima, Secunda, and Tertia. If you might…share just a little something with us? I know the children are not fighting men like you are. But they are hungry and it is hard to always refuse them.”

Nasir realizes that Agron is now standing behind him. “Where is your husband?” Agron asks. His voice is not unkind but it is straightforward.

Rufina swallows and looks down. “My husband has…many challenges. He has the melancholy. And he is injured. So he is unable to train and fight as you brave men are.” She swallows and adds, “And he is known to trade our rations for wine.”

Nasir turns to look at Agron. At least that last part would explain Rufina’s predicament, as the food situation in Sinuessa is not so dire that anyone should be this hungry.

Nasir watches Agron take a breath and give a small nod. Nasir steps away from the doorway and rummages around a shelf, placing some items inside a rucksack. “Here,” he says, handing it to Rufina. “Some apples and almonds.”

“Gratitude,” Rufina says, accepting the package. “Much gratitude.”

When Rufina and her children leave, Nasir again looks at Agron. They use their additional provisions to quiet their bellies before bedtime or to replenish themselves after a morning spent training with sword and spear. The extra rations are not at all lavish or excessive, even for two of Spartacus’ top men.

“I do not balk at helping her,” Agron says, his gaze still on the doorway. “But you know that when she returns with our empty rucksack, she will ask us to fill it again. My uncle once fed a mangy dog, and…well, you can guess the rest of the tale from there.”

“I can,” Nasir says. “It disturbs me that she says her husband trades food for wine. I am glad for what we have done today.”

“I am as well. But we cannot feed all of fucking Sinuessa from our extra stash.” He pauses. “Nor can we allow our warriors to be deprived should Rome ever breach these walls and force us to battle again.”

“That is my thought,” Nasir agrees. “We can help where we can.” He puts an arm around Agron’s waist. “You have a kind heart, Agron.” He then smiles and adds, “Underneath all your profanity.”

The men enjoy a good laugh over that and return to their bed.

***

Time passes. One day Nasir returns from his training and sees Pietros in the villa’s courtyard with a young girl. He is twisting her hair into braids. Nasir realizes that he recognizes the girl – the eldest of Rufina’s daughters. Nasir sits down next to his friend and breaks words.

Pietros tells Nasir straightforwardly that the girl’s name is Prima, and that he and Barca agreed with Rufina that the couple would foster her. “Rufina is absent good husband,” Pietros says simply. “And has too many mouths to feed. So we are caring for Prima now.”

Nasir has to admit that he is intrigued. Born a slave and finding himself attracted only to men, Nasir had never thought of parenthood. He may as well have wished to become senator or army general.

“Is – is it not difficult?” Nasir asks. “Looking after a child? You are best medicus we have now and your work seems endless.”

“Prima is wonderful child,” Pietros says, and then plants a kiss on the girl’s forehead. She giggles and makes a few noises, seeming to command him to resume his work on her hair.

“Hand me that ribbon please,” Pietros says to Nasir, before resuming his work. He then adds, “It is not overly difficult. Barca, of course, wishes for Prima to become Hoplomachus someday and was thrilled when he got her to pick up stick and ‘fight’ him this morning!” With a conspiratorial look at Nasir, Pietros adds, “But I would see her to hair stylings and dolls instead. She is too young for battle.”

They talk for a bit longer, and Nasir asks a few more questions. Prima’s energy seems to evaporate within the blink of an eye, and she curls up inside Pietros’ lap, apparently wishing to nap now.

“She has bruises,” Pietros whispers to Nasir. “I feel that her father should not be near children. I wish we could take her siblings too, but….well, Barca does not wish that we foster more than one.”

***

“I do not know what the right course of action may be,” Agron says. He and Nasir are inside the canteen, sitting side by side with their dinner. The place hums with activity, spoons clacking against bowls, former gladiators telling bawdy stories, children running about. “Nasir, you know that we cannot solve every problem we find here in Sinuessa.”

“That I understand,” Nasir says. “This situation, however, was brought to our doorstep.”

“It was indeed,” Agron acknowledges with a nod. He looks intently at Nasir. “Pietros is…fine person. Yet I cannot help but to wonder if he and Barca are undertaking this too casually. The work of fostering the girl.” He takes a breath. “What do they know of child-rearing?”

“Perhaps not much. But surely the girl is better off with them than with her father! It is the other three children I am gravely concerned with,” Nasir says glumly.

Agron tilts his head. “And you and I have learned a few things about the work of parenting, as we now stand as uncles to Klaus.” Agron is silent again. His spoon remains on the table, yet unused.

“What if make attempt to learn more?” Nasir asks. “Perhaps visit Rufina and her husband. Perhaps break words with Duro and Veronica – we see them and Klaus nearly every day but we may ask them for their thoughts on this situation.”

“You are as wise as you are fierce upon the training grounds!” Agron says with a smile. “Let us take to that.”

***

“By all means, you should pursue this!” Duro enthuses. “It is a wonderful thing to care for a child.”

“You say that now,” Veronica begins, walking over to seat herself upon the sofa next to Duro, “because Klaus is asleep at this moment. He is not screaming, running, or finding things to break.” She gently pokes at his arm, “And you, husband, are not currently imploring the gods for a moment of quiet.”

“It is easier to love him when he is sleeping,” Duro admits with a nod. “And yet I love him too even when he is yelling ‘no’ at my every word.”

Nasir glances at Agron. “You do not regret it then?” Nasir asks. “Having a child?”

“Regret it?” Duro scoffs. “No, in fact we would have more if the gods will it. Perhaps soon.”

“But bear in mind,” Veronica says, raising a cautionary finger in the air, “that you shall find it tiring. I have spent so many hours washing dirty cloths.”

“ **You** have spent?” Duro questions. “ **We** have spent!”

The couple argues, though clearly in a light-hearted manner, about the division of labor and time spent on each aspect of raising Klaus. Nasir reaches for Agron’s hand and squeezes it lightly.

***

A few days later, Agron and Nasir walk home from the tent belonging to Rufina’s family. They are quiet for a long stretch of time and the only immediate sounds are those of their sandals along the ground and seagulls cawing. At last Agron speaks, “I wish to stop by medicus building and find some mint tea. To cleanse mouth and head of that place!”

“I believe wine might better suit you right now,” Nasir teases. He places an arm on Agron’s back as they continue to walk. “Shall we break words about it now or tomorrow when we have rested and cleared minds?”

Agron is quiet. He then shakes his head. “That man is not the first I have seen to mistreat and neglect wife and children. I would have beaten him to a pulp if I thought it would do any good. Yet I knew that Rufina and the children would have paid the price.”

“You took the right course. I have always admired how you can hold to restraint when needed. And unleash the beast when that is better pathway,” Nasir adds.

“Oh, how I would love to unleash the beast on that man!”

_Agron and Nasir had seen the situation clearly with their visit; none of it surprised them, but it was disheartening indeed. Rufina’s husband – named Cato, same as the son – cared little for his daughters. He longed for a second son. Whether his churlishness was brought on by an addiction to wine or by melancholy or something else, Agron and Nasir did not know. He appeared to view wife and daughters as either servants or nuisances or both. When asked if he missed Prima, the daughter now being raised by Pietros and Barca, the man laughed as if the question stood ridiculous._

_Before Agron and Nasir departed, Rufina rushed up to them and stood by the tent flap. She urged, “You are welcome to foster our other two daughters. I know they shall have a better home with you.” Her voice was pleading and a bit desperate. If her husband was listening or even cared about their exchange, from the other side of the tent he did not provide any hints._

_“Would you not miss the girls?” Nasir asked. Despite all he had seen inside their tent, his wide eyes betrayed his incredulousness. “Would your heart not break?”_

_“Yes,” Rufina said softly. “But the girls would not be far away. I could take comfort in knowing that they would be happier with you. And they would be near their elder sister as she lives in the same villa as you.” She added, “If we have two fewer mouths to feed, perhaps my husband will be happier.”_

***

Many words are broken between Agron and Nasir over the next few days. And now they sit as they often do, inside their room, by the window overlooking the villa’s courtyard and fountain. They see Barca playing a spirited game of catch with Prima, and the girl seems to enjoy it though she stops at one point to retie a hair ribbon that was coming loose.

“What is the meaning of our life here?” Nasir asks.

Agron turns his head and considers making a quip about Nasir having imbibed too much wine as his reason for asking such a question. But he wipes the smile from his face, understanding that Nasir has important thoughts to share.

“Are we to spend our days training to defend the city, playing with Klaus, taking dinner with Spartacus and our other friends…and is that all?” Nasir muses. “Or is our purpose greater?”

Agron opens his mouth to reply, and then waits a moment. He then says, “We have accomplished much in our lives. Freed ourselves, freed others. We made this city a haven for slaves and we gave Rome pause, though we do not look to be able to defeat the empire.” He pauses, “And we are indeed good uncles to Klaus.”

“I would like to leave something else behind as well,” Nasir says, his gaze still out the window.

“Then perhaps we should do this,” Agron says quietly. There is no need to clarify what “this” is, as he and Nasir have spoken of little else for days. “This may yet be our only chance to become parents, to leave something behind. Is it wrong to separate the girls from their mother? I am neither priest nor prophet nor philosopher. I say only that the girls would have a better home with us.”

“I am in agreement,” Nasir says. He turns to look at Agron. “There is selfish part of me that wishes to have you all to myself,” he adds. His smile along with the sweet comment are the sort of things that have always captivated Agron.

“I, too,” Agron says. “But we have Duro and Veronica to assist us should we desire time alone. And Barca and Pietros – we can alternate time with them as well, which would also allow all of the sisters to be together often.”

“Is it settled then?” Nasir asks.

“I believe it so.” Agron then adds, remembering a detail from earlier, “Their mother’s mother was Thracian. Like our Spartacus.”

“I recall that,” Nasir says. He then cracks another smile, raises his eyebrows, and adds, “Thank the gods she was not…. _a fucking Gaul._ ”

Agron can only laugh at hearing his own words used so by Nasir. He enjoys Nasir’s quip, but his mood turns serious again. “What **of** Rufina?” he asks quietly. “Of her future? She is the mother.”

“During all of our talks with her, she has never expressed desire to leave husband,” Nasir answers straightforwardly. “Perhaps someday if she wishes to do so….we would provide aid. Ensure he does not harm her. Until that day I stand unsure what else we can do for her. Other than foster her remaining daughters, as she requests of us.”

Agron nods. “Yes. Should she one day ask for our help to keep the man away from her, we shall give it.”

***

“Papa. There is new hole in floor.”

Agron furrows his brow. Secunda is now six years old and often has unusual things to say.

“A new hole in the floor?” Agron repeats. “You mean it suddenly just appeared, as if the gods decided it should be there? Whatever happened?”

Secunda shrugs, tilting her head to the side. She then places both arms in front of her torso, giving every indication that she does indeed know what transpired but prefers not to share.

A very amused Agron follows Secunda to the corridor inside the villa where the girl had been playing with her sisters. An older, more worn section of the floor does indeed show a large indentation. Agron is less interested in the “hole” than in Secunda’s very unconvincing attempts to tell her papa that she had nothing to do with it. He looks forward to telling Nasir about this, as he finds that stories from the girls’ mouths are often far funnier than Gannicus or Lugo’s attempts at humor.

In any case, it is time now for dinner. Spartacus has succeeded in negotiating a better agreement with Herculeo. The people have Sinuessa now have fuller plates, fuller bellies.

Later that day, Pietros and Barca drop Prima off. All three sisters will stay with Agron and Nasir overnight. At Prima’s directive, they begin by playing dolls and later move on to a drawing contest, using charcoal and scraps of bark. The girls are reminded once again that the walls are not to be used as drawing material, although several doodles upon the walls illustrate that this command has not always been followed.

Agron looks at Nasir and chuckles. “I spent my youth training for battle in the lands East of the Rhine. From the day I was old enough to hold a sword. I did not imagine I would serve as judge in children’s drawing contest one day.”

“I find it yet more adorable when you play dolls with them,” Nasir smiles. “I especially enjoy the voice you use for your doll.”

Indeed Agron has often caused Nasir to take to fits of laughter when Agron plays dolls with the girls - especially when he speaks for “his” doll using a high-pitched tone that Nasir cannot imagine how Agron reaches.

Agron shakes his head. “Is it wrong to admit that most days I prefer this over our morning training?”

“Not at all,” Nasir says, placing a hand upon Agron’s arm. “But do not allow your training to falter. I saw Spartacus best you this morning!”

“He stands the only man here who can. As long as I do not lose to the fucking Gaul then I—“

“Papa!” Secunda exclaims. “You are not to say that word, remember?” She shakes a finger at Agron.

“Sometimes exceptions can be made,” Agron retorts.

Nasir chuckles. When the girls return to their drawing, Nasir whispers, “Tomorrow Duro and Veronica are taking the girls.”

“That I well know! I quite look forward to it.”

“I shall heat water for our tub, and we shall later drain our oil flask.”

“Oh, I eagerly await that.”

Agron reaches for Nasir and places his lips over his. It is a chaste kiss but there is promise of more to come. Agron admires Nasir equally whether the man is wielding spear upon practice field, wiping the girls’ noses, or reaching for Agron to kiss him with his sweet lips. The man stirs his heart, and the promise of a bath with him tomorrow still makes his heart pound.

Agron would admit to anyone that the work of parenthood is one of the most difficult things he has ever undertaken, but he is also more content than he has ever been in his life. And he knows the same is true for Nasir. He again reaches for Nasir to kiss him once more.

“No kiss! See picture!” Tertia demands with a stomp, waving her scrap of bark in the air.

**THE END**


End file.
